The Fulfillment Series

The Fulfillment Series
Showing posts with label Mema. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mema. Show all posts

Monday, December 4, 2017

The First Birthday Without PaPa

Today would have been PaPa's 85th birthday. It's weird because he always said he'd never make it to 85, and he didn't. But I always thought he would. To me, he was invincible. He could do anything--move mountains, climb skyscrapers, anything. He was my PaPa, and I, his Babydoll, adored him.


It's been almost five months since he passed, and I still can't utter his name without choking up. I still can't stand to look at pictures because it still hurts too much. Even though I know he's not coming back, I find myself gazing at "his" chair in his office and at his house and wishing he'd just magically appear there. In fact, I get a little ruffled under the feathers if someone sits there because it's PaPa's chair.


Deek and I were talking recently about when people die and how the people left here are keepers of their memories. And I cried wondering when my generation and the one after me--those who experienced the greatness of PaPa--are gone, who will remember him? I don't want the wonderfulness that is him to fade. And Deek told me that every time I show love, mercy, gratefulness, and generosity, I'm spreading PaPa's spirit to the world. They may not remember him personally, but he'll still leave his mark when I'm kind because he was and someone else is kind because I was. In that same way, PaPa himself spread the light and love of his parents and grandparents to me even though I never knew them.


It's not the same, but it's something. It's a way for me to keep PaPa's memory alive past him, past me, past the generation behind me. I'll tell a few more jokes. Try to live in the present more rather than focus on the future. I'll hug my people every time I see them. I'll pursue my passions and dreams with more gusto. I'll put my nose to the grindstone and work even harder. I'll do my best to show the traits I learned from PaPa, and in doing so, you'll know him a little too. And maybe after I share joke, you'll tell it at a get together, and when people laugh, PaPa will be there. And someone else will tell that same joke, and the cycle continues. Man, PaPa did love a joke. I can still hear his laughter in my head and in my heart.


PaPa had five wonderful brothers and a lovely sister. I can still see each one of their faces and hear their voices in my mind. They understood the meaning of family, and they taught it to all of their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I don't want any of them to fade. So, I'm going to post a picture and list all their names so there's a record. And when you see them, I want you to think of your own family--your mother, your brother, your wife, your child--and I want you do something today that shows them you love them. And when you do, these seven people will be there, smiling and laughing because family was everything to them.

Top row, left to right: Stacy, Ed, Harold
Bottom row, left to right: Darwin (PaPa), Wendell, John (aka: Bunky), and Eldred

I love you, PaPa. I miss you, and I always will. I know they say "time heals all wounds" and all that, but I don't think I'll ever really get over losing you. I will, however, do my best to make you proud and keep your spirit alive now and in the future.

Happy Birthday! 




Thursday, July 20, 2017

What is Self-Soothing?

A few days ago, someone told me that dealing with loss is a good time to practice self-soothing. I nodded, but I'm not entirely sure what that means. Lie in bed all day? Stuff my face with pizza? Cry until my tears run out? These are things I *want* to do, but I *need* to walk the line between grieving for someone who's gone and living for those who are still here.


Deek tells me to be patient with myself, to take the time I need to grieve, and I love him so hard for his love, patience, and kindness. Sometimes I do lie in bed. Sometimes I do cry until my tears run out. And yes, I *have* stuffed my face with pizza. Twice.


I honestly don't know how to grieve. I've been fortune to have friends and family with long lifespans, so this is my first real, adult experience with this sort of pain. And he was my PaPa. The first man I ever loved. He used to take me everywhere with him, and I was happy as a clam to go. He was my PaPa, and I was his BabyDoll.

The first man I ever loved walks me down the aisle to the last man I'll ever love. 
Poetic.

In college, I took a really great class called Relational Communication. In one lesson, we talked about grief and how to respond to people in the midst of it. Our professor said people don't want to hear platitudes. They don't want to hear you're sorry. They want you to be able to sit with them in their grief. Cry with them. Love them through their pain. 

At the time, I didn't truly understand. Now I do. 

I guess this is where experience teaches more than academia. Where life is learned by living, not studying. But I say with my whole heart, this is a lesson I'd rather not learn. 


Yesterday, I spent the day with my Mema. We cried, we talked about PaPa, and we read some of the lovely cards friends and family had sent. But PaPa's absence filled the room.

If you are the praying sort, please pray for my Mema. If you're the good vibes sort, please send them her way. This woman lost her partner, her best friend, and the love of her life. They were together over 60 years--married almost 63. 


My heart aches, my throat closes, and a fresh wave of tears form when I think of her sleeping in her bed alone, eating alone, *being* alone. It breaks my heart because I know, I witnessed firsthand, just how very much they loved each other.

If you see me or talk to me and I'm not myself, know that I'm muddling through this tsunami of grief. I'm trying to figure out how to self-soothe, whatever that means. I'm trying to make sense of a world that doesn't have PaPa in it. And know that even when I reach the other side of this sea of sadness, I'll never quite be the same. Because like I said before...this BabyDoll is sorely lacking without her PaPa.