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! 

A Tribute to PaPa and Family

On Friday (7/7/17), I received the call I'd always known would come one day but always hoped, however unrealistic, never would. My PaPa, my grandfather, left this earth peacefully in his sleep. I'm shattered. Devastated. Heartbroken. My PaPa is more special to me than there are words to express it. I've always been "PaPa's Babydoll." And though I know I'll continue to be, this BabyDoll is sorely lacking without her PaPa.

There is a hollowness inside my chest that aches. I know heartache isn't actually in the heart, but it sure feels that way. A few days ago, I read an article that said "Grief isn't linear." And that's true. Sometimes I can muster a smile, but other times, I can't hold back my tears. Grief is like this terrible up and down rollercoaster that you can't get off of. 

People keep asking me if I need anything. Yeah, I do. I need to have my PaPa back. 

I've always felt lucky to be part of my family, but I don't think I realized *just* how lucky I was (and how unique my family is) until I grew up. Not everyone gets together with their entire family--and by that, I mean well over a hundred people--several times a year. Not everyone knows the name and life story of their fifth cousin twice removed. Not everyone has a big group of people who cheer you on in the good times and cry with you in the bad times. Not everyone was taught the value of family and shown unconditional love.

But I was, and I'm forever grateful. And the reason I know all these things and was taught these wonderful values is because of this group right here: PaPa and his siblings.

Top, right to left: Stacy, Ed, Harold

Bottom, right to left: PaPa, Wendell, Bunkie, Eldred.

At first glance, to people who don't know them, they may just look like a bunch of old folks. But they're the liveliest bunch you'll ever meet. They had such depth of personality that it's impossible to catalog, but I'll try in as few words as possible. 

Stacy--The oldest, the leader, always ready with a hug. 

Ed--The storyteller who could leave you with a stomachache from laughing so hard. 

Harold--The jokester, who was always ready with a goofy grin and a riddle. 

Wendell--A hard worker with an infectious laugh. 

Bunkie--The quiet observer with an artistic soul. 

Eldred--Poised and regal despite growing up with six brothers. 

And PaPa--the baby--was a mix of them all. 

Though they're gone now, I can still hear the sound of their voices and the symphony of their combined laughter.

These people, along with Mema and her outstanding "kinfolk," created my family. And they didn't just limit our gathering to their family, they opened it up to our extended-extended family, to friends, and to the community. With their warm, generous spirits, they never wanted anyone to feel alone, especially during the holidays.

This is my heritage. This is my legacy. I am luckier than I have any right to be to have had these wonderful, amazing people in my life. And I'm forever changed by it.

Even as my heart breaks, I can hear PaPa saying, "Don't cry, BabyDoll. I'm juuust right, and I'll see you again directly." Until then, I'll endeavor to carry the torch and to model the behavior PaPa and his siblings displayed for me. I'll do my very best to apply their lessons to my own life--love deeply and passionately, give wholeheartedly, cherish your family, welcome everyone, be present in everything you do, laugh hard and often, tell jokes, be silly, explore your artistic side, honor your family name, set an example, and live your life to the fullest each and every moment.

This one image keeps coming into my mind, and it brings me a little comfort as I move through this non-linear grief. Backstory: PaPa and his brothers created a card game when they were little, and they played it all their lives. I can still see them sitting around a table playing it. They all had asthma. And they would laugh so hard during their card game that they'd all need their inhalers. Like synchronized swimmers, they'd whip out their inhalers, take a puff, and continue laughing and playing.

So, in my mind, I see his brothers and sister sitting around a table playing that card game, and they've had an empty seat waiting for years. This Friday, PaPa took that empty seat, and they dealt him a hand of cards. I can almost hear Stacy saying, "Lawd, Darwin, we've been waiting for you for a while now." And when I imagine this scene, my heart hurts a little less, just for a minute.

Goodbye, PaPa. I'll always love you and cherish the time I got to spend with you. I loved every minute of being your BabyDoll, and I'll do my best to make you proud.