Today was the first anniversary of Papa’s passing— or better, the first anniversary of the reunification with the love of his life, Mamaw.
I reflected on him and on them as I ran this morning. As the dark faded into day, the sun came up in the most spectacular orange, purple, and blue streaks. The sky was dotted with clouds above the plain suburban rooftops, powerlines, stoplights, and store signs.
It was the perfect picture of beauty in real life. It was so “them.”
It’s hard to believe this was only a year ago. The pandemic gained momentum in the US shortly after his death. Knowing what I know now, I feel so thankful that he went when he did. His closest family was able to be there with him. Then we were able to gather and truly celebrate his life.
A year later, the world is so different.
We were all allowed to take special-to-us things from his house, their house. I have a couple items- a bowl, a rosary, some clip-on earrings. The most visible is a little sign that left his patio for mine that says, “If you can be anything, be kind.”
For me, this is no throwaway quote. It’s a call to action that I’ll work on every day for the rest of my life. It’s his legacy and my opportunity.
Miss you. Love you!
Post from February 7, 2020
Papa passed yesterday.
He was this man. Not that one or that one. This one.
He was all the things you’d expect and were expected of a man with 96 years. He was a WWII vet, devoted husband, hardworking father, faithful parishioner, and Alabama football fan.
He embodied that spirit of the “Greatest Generation”- the generation that gave so much and asked so little.
But, of course, it’s not the grand accomplishments and generalities that will be missed. I will miss very specific things.
Little details made him extraordinary to me and probably all of you.
It was the smell of his house- a mix of cut grass, aftershave, and hot coffee.
It was the way he’d quietly disappear to grab another chair when someone new walked into the room.
It was how he’d wallpapered the kitchen with our cards and pictures out of appreciation- and a little playful defiance. “Mamaw would have never let me do this.” Then, how he’d pull out his hanky to dab his blue eyes- those same blue eyes my daughter has.
It was the sound of him clapping. He’d lean in with that whole-body smile from the other side of the security gate as you walked off the plane.
It was the way he kissed my newborn’s spiky hair and said she was a “good holdin’ baby.”
I was about 10. We were standing at the back door getting ready to go somewhere. The phone on the table must have made him think of it. He asked if I’d heard the new Stevie Wonder song, “I Just Called to Say I Love You.” I had and wondered why he was asking. “I just think that’s such a nice idea.”
It was how he always answered on the first ring.
He was the kindest. This one. Aunt Carol DuPree called him a living saint.
Over the last couple of weeks during this decline, he’s been more on my mind and in my heart than ever. The craziest thing has happened. I see him everywhere. Not him exactly, but I see overwhelming kindness.
It was there at the FedEx store in the manager helping an older man struggling with his computer. It was there in the staff meeting when one client prompted a standing ovation for another returning to work after cataract surgery. It was there on the street when a neighbor gushed over our new puppy. All these were just yesterday.
I didn’t just feel his kindness. By example, he reminds me to see it, to share it.
Yes, he was our living saint. And, now he’s our named angel. He’s one we can call on by whatever name he was to you. Daddy, Papaw, Richard.
He’ll pick up on the first ring.