The phone rang, I looked at the caller ID and knew something had happened.
It was my Dad.
The last time my Dad called, it was early in the morning, and he shared the devastating news that my sister-in-law passed away completely unexpectedly a few hours earlier. I still haven't dealt with her loss, and think of telling her things often, then it hits me all over again.
As I answered the phone, I told myself I was crazy and that he was just calling to invite us to do something. When I heard his voice catch in his greeting, my eyes swelled and I knew...in my soul I knew.
When my Dad called to tell me about Naba, I screamed at him and told him "no, not Naba, Papa, right? Papa, not Naba?" Papa had lived his life and I knew that his time was soon, though I hoped not for another decade. It didn't seem fair for Naba to go, I couldn't wrap my head around that. Naba was only slightly older then me, she was my brother's first love, the amazing Mom to my beautiful nephews. I was going to see her for my youngest nephews first birthday in just a few more days. I bargained with him to be wrong, to tell me that it was Papa and not Naba. Looking back, I can't imagine how hard that was for him to hear.
But this time, this time he told me that my Papa, his father, had had a stroke; and it didn't look good. I lost it, and fell to the floor. My husband came in and saw me, then he grabbed Eli and took the other kids in the living room so I could grieve and cry in private.
In the summer's, as a kid, I was lucky enough that I got to spend a week (or at least a long weekend) at my Papa's house with my older brother Justin. I got bored easily, so Papa taught me to play cards. Our favorite game was Hearts, but we also dabbled in Rummy, Canasta, Go Fish, and War. I bugged that man from sun-up to sun-down to play cards with me, and he never complained. He kept a drawer of cards in his house, my favorite ones were the Lassie cards. During our card sessions, or lessons, he told me stories about his life and my Grandmother. He told me stories about growing up in Napa, raising my Dad, Aunt, and Uncle, stories of my parents when they met and got married, being in the War, and stories about life. He always spoke to me in a way that got me to think, to question.
He also taught me to count cards, because it helped me learn math.
The next few hours were a blur of trying to find plane tickets, figure out what I might need to wear to a funeral, begging that the doctors were wrong and that the stroke wasn't as bad as they thought. We called and got a babysitter for the G's and Bobby got in the car and started the drive to take Eli and I to the airport. How was I going to take care of Eli and see Papa? How was Eli going to do on the plane? Papa was going to be fine. Papa was strong. Papa was a fighter! Papa was ornery and not going to let a stroke take him out, he was going to go on his own terms. This wasn't it. We were 4 hours from the airport, so I had quite awhile to think. About half an hour from our house we hit stand-still traffic. The type of traffic where people start relieving themselves on the side of the road. I didn't have time for traffic....I had to get to my Papa.
My Aunt and Uncle took my cousins, my brother Justin, and I to Disneyland when I was a kid. My Papa came too, which was a sure sign of his love for us. The morning of Disneyland, I woke up feeling terrible but was determined to push through it because I wanted to go to Disneyland. I got to go on exactly one ride, Indiana Jones. Then it was determined that I needed to go home, and Papa volunteered to take me. I was so bummed about missing out on Disneyland, and being sick; feeling downright sorry for myself. It turned out I had strep-throat, and it was a great idea to remove me from the theme park, saving me from infecting everyone else...ah adult-hindsight is amazing.
Well my Papa did his very best to cheer me up. He played lots, and lots of cards with me. He taught me how to bridge the deck, and I can remember his face when I finally got it. He taught me how to make coffee, cook eggs correctly, and that frozen snickers are indeed better. I remember these few days with my Papa vividly and was incredibly blessed to have this one-on-one time with him.
We were still sitting in traffic when my Dad called to tell me that he was going through security. There wasn't a way to make it to the airport and the airlines had informed me that there wasn't another flight until morning. So instead, Bobby drove me to my Dad's house and my step-mom agreed to drive me to the airport before the sun came-up the next morning. I was so angry. Angry I missed my flight. Angry the tractor trailer caught on fire and caused the traffic. Angry my Papa had a stroke. Angry I wasn't there for him...
Papa came to my high school graduation, he didn't miss these kinds of things. He was proud of me for making it to the top of my class, and proud that I got accepted to college. I was going to college out-of-state with a friend I had known since the beginning of 7th grade. I remember after the graduation he told me he was proud of me. Oh, how I loved this man. He told me that he was going to miss our consistent visits, and he knew that I was growing up, but to make sure I still made time to see him. I promised him that I would see him often, he was my Papa and couldn't escape me.
I made it to California Tuesday morning without anymore setbacks. My soul was heavy, my heart hurt, and my body was fighting to stay upright. My Dad met us downstairs and took Eli, he couldn't go up to the ICU, and my step-dad, Mom and I got into an elevator to go see Papa. That was the longest elevator ride of my life.
If you are reading this blog, you know I have fertility problems, which lead to our adoption of the G's. My Papa took his last plane trip ever to visit us in Germany. I sat on the couch one afternoon while Lassie was playing on the television and told him all about our fertility problems, our miscarriages, how/why we started the adoption process. I shared with him my fears, my hopes, my dreams of a family. It was then that he shared with me that he and my Grandma were going to adopt. She really wanted a little girl, and the traditional way wasn't working. They had started the process to adopt when they learned they were pregnant with, my now, Aunt Pam. He told me their conversations returned to adoption, but the time never felt right and then she got sick. I remember he told me that the timing was never perfect for anything, but it was good enough. He told me he was proud of us, and couldn't wait to meet his new Great Grandkids!
I don't think I have ever been in an ICU before, the closest I have been is through t.v. shows like ER or Grey's Anatomy. I could see Papa through the glass doors as we approached through the hallway. So many tubes. So many machines. The machines were breathing for him, keeping him alive. My amazing family had kept him on the machines so that I could say good-bye. I don't think I will ever be able to repay them for that.
News, wasn't news, until I shared it with Papa. I had just seen him a few weeks earlier when he traveled to us in Arizona to meet the G's. He told me how proud he was of us, and so happy that my dreams had come true. I called him on the phone, so anxious and unsure. I told him that I was pregnant and that I had made it past my 'typical' miscarriage time frame. He paused, and said "What?" This wasn't uncommon, he needed his hearing aides and had trouble hearing female voices, especially over the phone. So I repeated myself, slowly, a little louder/deeper and with a bit more confidence, "Papa, I'm pregnant and due in August." He was so, so happy for us and he reminded me that he called it. I just had to get my older two first. I was again reminded, that everything works out the way it is supposed to.
I left the room when they removed the tubes and took away the machines. The staff reminded us that it could be a few minutes, a few hours, or even a few days. He had another stroke during surgery the night before, some serious blood clots that removed any function in his leg, and too much plaque floating around his body, plaque they couldn't stop. There was another option, keeping him on the machines, amputate his leg, and maybe in 2+ years he'll wake up and be able to move one arm; if the plaque didn't stop his heart. He wouldn't have wanted to live like this. I could hear him in my soul, he was saying good-bye and was ready to move on.
When I was a senior in high school I drove down to visit my Papa. When I arrived he was super-giddy and told me he wanted to take me somewhere. We got into his car and drove a few minutes away. Along the way he told me that he had met someone, someone who made him happy.
In all the time I spent with Papa growing up, he never had a significant other - at least that I recall. Family tells me stories about a friend that he helped who passed away from cancer; but I only vaguely remember her.
We pulled up to this strange house and he led me through the gate on the side of the house. He knocked on the side door and I could feel his nervousness radiating through his body. When Ellen answered the door he gave her a hug and kiss, and she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. She told me she had heard so much about me and was so excited to finally meet me.
During our card games, Papa would tell me that he was going to sell his house and move to Nevada, where it was cheaper to live. California was so expensive, they taxed everything. Papa smoked like a chimney and kept Coors in business. Every time a new tax was passed on alcohol or cigarettes in California he'd start up again with how expensive this state was and that he was going to move to Nevada.
Well Ellen's husband had passed away a few years earlier, and she was keen on the idea of moving to Nevada with Papa.
When I came back into the ICU room, he still looked like Papa. I was internally pleading with the world for Papa, my Papa, to be one of those miracle stories. "They took the tubes out and he just woke up!" I was waiting for him to sit up and yell at the family that had gathered for making such a big deal out of a silly little stoke. I was waiting for my Papa to appear.
Papa and Ellen moved to Nevada for about a year, and then decided that the grass may be a tad bit greener in Arizona. They set up residence in a mobile home in Prescott, Arizona. On one of my visits, after I had married Bobby, Papa told me that he was sad that this part of my life was happening. When I questioned him, he confided that I now had a husband, would soon have kids and this meant less time for moments like this; sitting on his porch playing cards. He told me he enjoyed these times, and knew that they would happen less often - but made me promise that they wouldn't stop. I told my Papa that these were the moments that were important and I promised him that I would see him at least once a year, but would aim for at least every six months. He knew the military lifestyle, and knew that we'd be moving often and that life would get busy. I'm proud to say that I saw him at least once a year, sometimes more because, I too, enjoyed these moments.
Come on Papa, wake up! Just one more game of cards...please? He was breathing on his own, no machines were keeping him alive...
When I was in Germany I got a message from my Uncle that Ellen had passed away. They were together for about a decade. Bobby was in Airmen Leadership School, prior to our adoption (or even talks of it). We had just finished a round of fertility treatments and the doctor's were hopeful. I left work and went home to take Lucy for a walk. I just needed time to process. I walked a few miles to where Bobby had his class and waited outside in the shade with Lucy for 4:30 to arrive. When Bobby walked out, tears streamed down my face, and I told him Ellen had passed away. I was worried about my Papa. Bobby walked home with me in the heat, and we bought plane tickets. I flew into Fresno, where my Uncle picked me, and we drove to Prescott to pack up Papa and bring him back to California. This was one of the most challenging moments of my life, up to this point. Trying to convince my Papa that he wanted to live, and that everything was going to be okay. He was just getting over another bout of Cancer, and didn't understand why it was Ellen who passed and not him. Life wasn't fair, how did he outlive two wives?
It was the night of Ellen's funeral that I miscarried...I was only 8 weeks along, but the doctor's thought they had figured out what was wrong and Bobby and I were so hopeful. I took a shower at my Uncle's house that night that was probably the cause of the drought in California...I let the water wash away my grief, the uncertainty of what life was/is, and the hope of having a child of my own.
That would the last round of fertility treatments, I just couldn't do it anymore.
Life wasn't fair, and deck wasn't stacked in our favor.
Last summer, we took the road trip from Arkansas to California. We stopped to see friends and family on the trip there and back, and spent a few days at my Uncle's house with my Papa. Papa was living in a retirement home nearby, he liked to be independent - but was still close enough that my Uncle and the family could check in on him and visit often. Papa and I didn't play cards anymore. He had trouble seeing the cards, and would get frustrated because he'd forget his strategy mid-game. It kind of worked out though, since I had children to mind.
During this visit, Papa went outside to smoke and George must have followed him. George apparently pointed to the pool and Papa asked him if he wanted to get in. George, of course said yes. I came outside to find George dancing pantsless, on the step of the pool and Papa laughing. He told me life was too short and he wanted to get in the pool. He smiled at me and proudly said, "at least I had him take his pants off first."
During the rest of this visit, I kept a better eye on the G's. Papa and I still spent time talking. At the end of our visit he told me his good-byes and I promised I would see him soon. I told him that Justin and I were talking about coming to California for Christmas - and that we'd make sure there was time to see him too. He told me he'd love to see Justin, that it had been too long. He hugged me goodbye and told me he really hoped to see us for the holiday.
Papa made it through the night. They ran some tests and told us that his brain stem was still functioning so his body was breathing, and running but there was no brain activity. There was still hope; the hope of a Granddaughter not ready to say goodbye. I held his hand, listened vaguely as people expressed condolences, heard the pastor when he stopped by to talk to the family, felt the nurses presence as they helped him keep his dignity. The days blurred together - they kept saying he'll go when he's ready. His family from his Air Force days came from Arizona, they were family to all of us. He was hardly ever alone, my Dad kept night vigils and kept us updated of any changes while the rest of the family tried to rest. I sat for hours holding his hand, rubbing his thumb with my thumb...just like he used to do to me.
Last Thanksgiving I called my Mom to tell her that her dreams were coming true; Justin and his boys and my clan were going to come for Christmas. It was going to be a tough one, Justin's first without his wife. I knew Christmas was going to be hard, and knew it was important for us to be together, to support each other.
About 24 hours after telling Mom that we were coming, we found out that we had to be in Virginia in the beginning of January. The only way to still make the trip for Christmas was to pack up our house, out process, tie-up medical appointments, find housing in Virginia, find a school in Virginia, pass our inspection, go to California and then drive directly to Virginia.
Do not pass go, and do not collect $200.
Thankfully family and friends stepped up to help us out, and within 3 weeks of finding out we were moving my Dad was hauling our household stuff in a U-Haul from Arkansas to his house in Maryland with Bobby's red-truck strapped to the back, and we were heading west in our minivan to spend the holidays with my Mom and brother.
I'm so, so happy we got to spend the holidays together.
We even went to see my Papa at my Uncle's house. It really, really was perfect. At the end of my visit with Papa he thanked me for getting my brother there. At the time, it was odd. He then said his good-byes. I brushed him off, and told him I'd see him this summer when we came out for our annual road trip. I hugged him tight, told him I loved him, and to take care of himself. As we left that day, he teared up. That was the last time I'd see his eyes.
On Friday, March 13th 2015 my Papa took his final breath. My Aunt Pam and Dee were talking about old times, I closed my eyes, sitting in a chair next to his bed, and fell asleep. I was dreaming that I was little again. We were sitting at his table in his old house in Merced playing cards. We finished up our game and he said it was time for bed. I got up, put the Lassie cards back in the drawer and gave him a hug good night. He was sitting at the head of his table, where he always sat, finishing his beer. As I walked past he to go down the hall to bed he flicked my pony tail, like he always did. It was at this moment I jumped up from my dream, and he had passed. My Papa passed away quietly, I truly believe he went around the world to make sure everyone he loved was okay before he joined Naba, Grandma and Ellen. That flick of my hair was his final good-bye.
It was my Dad.
The last time my Dad called, it was early in the morning, and he shared the devastating news that my sister-in-law passed away completely unexpectedly a few hours earlier. I still haven't dealt with her loss, and think of telling her things often, then it hits me all over again.
As I answered the phone, I told myself I was crazy and that he was just calling to invite us to do something. When I heard his voice catch in his greeting, my eyes swelled and I knew...in my soul I knew.
When my Dad called to tell me about Naba, I screamed at him and told him "no, not Naba, Papa, right? Papa, not Naba?" Papa had lived his life and I knew that his time was soon, though I hoped not for another decade. It didn't seem fair for Naba to go, I couldn't wrap my head around that. Naba was only slightly older then me, she was my brother's first love, the amazing Mom to my beautiful nephews. I was going to see her for my youngest nephews first birthday in just a few more days. I bargained with him to be wrong, to tell me that it was Papa and not Naba. Looking back, I can't imagine how hard that was for him to hear.
But this time, this time he told me that my Papa, his father, had had a stroke; and it didn't look good. I lost it, and fell to the floor. My husband came in and saw me, then he grabbed Eli and took the other kids in the living room so I could grieve and cry in private.
In the summer's, as a kid, I was lucky enough that I got to spend a week (or at least a long weekend) at my Papa's house with my older brother Justin. I got bored easily, so Papa taught me to play cards. Our favorite game was Hearts, but we also dabbled in Rummy, Canasta, Go Fish, and War. I bugged that man from sun-up to sun-down to play cards with me, and he never complained. He kept a drawer of cards in his house, my favorite ones were the Lassie cards. During our card sessions, or lessons, he told me stories about his life and my Grandmother. He told me stories about growing up in Napa, raising my Dad, Aunt, and Uncle, stories of my parents when they met and got married, being in the War, and stories about life. He always spoke to me in a way that got me to think, to question.
He also taught me to count cards, because it helped me learn math.
The next few hours were a blur of trying to find plane tickets, figure out what I might need to wear to a funeral, begging that the doctors were wrong and that the stroke wasn't as bad as they thought. We called and got a babysitter for the G's and Bobby got in the car and started the drive to take Eli and I to the airport. How was I going to take care of Eli and see Papa? How was Eli going to do on the plane? Papa was going to be fine. Papa was strong. Papa was a fighter! Papa was ornery and not going to let a stroke take him out, he was going to go on his own terms. This wasn't it. We were 4 hours from the airport, so I had quite awhile to think. About half an hour from our house we hit stand-still traffic. The type of traffic where people start relieving themselves on the side of the road. I didn't have time for traffic....I had to get to my Papa.
My Aunt and Uncle took my cousins, my brother Justin, and I to Disneyland when I was a kid. My Papa came too, which was a sure sign of his love for us. The morning of Disneyland, I woke up feeling terrible but was determined to push through it because I wanted to go to Disneyland. I got to go on exactly one ride, Indiana Jones. Then it was determined that I needed to go home, and Papa volunteered to take me. I was so bummed about missing out on Disneyland, and being sick; feeling downright sorry for myself. It turned out I had strep-throat, and it was a great idea to remove me from the theme park, saving me from infecting everyone else...ah adult-hindsight is amazing.
Well my Papa did his very best to cheer me up. He played lots, and lots of cards with me. He taught me how to bridge the deck, and I can remember his face when I finally got it. He taught me how to make coffee, cook eggs correctly, and that frozen snickers are indeed better. I remember these few days with my Papa vividly and was incredibly blessed to have this one-on-one time with him.
We were still sitting in traffic when my Dad called to tell me that he was going through security. There wasn't a way to make it to the airport and the airlines had informed me that there wasn't another flight until morning. So instead, Bobby drove me to my Dad's house and my step-mom agreed to drive me to the airport before the sun came-up the next morning. I was so angry. Angry I missed my flight. Angry the tractor trailer caught on fire and caused the traffic. Angry my Papa had a stroke. Angry I wasn't there for him...
Papa came to my high school graduation, he didn't miss these kinds of things. He was proud of me for making it to the top of my class, and proud that I got accepted to college. I was going to college out-of-state with a friend I had known since the beginning of 7th grade. I remember after the graduation he told me he was proud of me. Oh, how I loved this man. He told me that he was going to miss our consistent visits, and he knew that I was growing up, but to make sure I still made time to see him. I promised him that I would see him often, he was my Papa and couldn't escape me.
I made it to California Tuesday morning without anymore setbacks. My soul was heavy, my heart hurt, and my body was fighting to stay upright. My Dad met us downstairs and took Eli, he couldn't go up to the ICU, and my step-dad, Mom and I got into an elevator to go see Papa. That was the longest elevator ride of my life.
If you are reading this blog, you know I have fertility problems, which lead to our adoption of the G's. My Papa took his last plane trip ever to visit us in Germany. I sat on the couch one afternoon while Lassie was playing on the television and told him all about our fertility problems, our miscarriages, how/why we started the adoption process. I shared with him my fears, my hopes, my dreams of a family. It was then that he shared with me that he and my Grandma were going to adopt. She really wanted a little girl, and the traditional way wasn't working. They had started the process to adopt when they learned they were pregnant with, my now, Aunt Pam. He told me their conversations returned to adoption, but the time never felt right and then she got sick. I remember he told me that the timing was never perfect for anything, but it was good enough. He told me he was proud of us, and couldn't wait to meet his new Great Grandkids!
I don't think I have ever been in an ICU before, the closest I have been is through t.v. shows like ER or Grey's Anatomy. I could see Papa through the glass doors as we approached through the hallway. So many tubes. So many machines. The machines were breathing for him, keeping him alive. My amazing family had kept him on the machines so that I could say good-bye. I don't think I will ever be able to repay them for that.
News, wasn't news, until I shared it with Papa. I had just seen him a few weeks earlier when he traveled to us in Arizona to meet the G's. He told me how proud he was of us, and so happy that my dreams had come true. I called him on the phone, so anxious and unsure. I told him that I was pregnant and that I had made it past my 'typical' miscarriage time frame. He paused, and said "What?" This wasn't uncommon, he needed his hearing aides and had trouble hearing female voices, especially over the phone. So I repeated myself, slowly, a little louder/deeper and with a bit more confidence, "Papa, I'm pregnant and due in August." He was so, so happy for us and he reminded me that he called it. I just had to get my older two first. I was again reminded, that everything works out the way it is supposed to.
I left the room when they removed the tubes and took away the machines. The staff reminded us that it could be a few minutes, a few hours, or even a few days. He had another stroke during surgery the night before, some serious blood clots that removed any function in his leg, and too much plaque floating around his body, plaque they couldn't stop. There was another option, keeping him on the machines, amputate his leg, and maybe in 2+ years he'll wake up and be able to move one arm; if the plaque didn't stop his heart. He wouldn't have wanted to live like this. I could hear him in my soul, he was saying good-bye and was ready to move on.
When I was a senior in high school I drove down to visit my Papa. When I arrived he was super-giddy and told me he wanted to take me somewhere. We got into his car and drove a few minutes away. Along the way he told me that he had met someone, someone who made him happy.
In all the time I spent with Papa growing up, he never had a significant other - at least that I recall. Family tells me stories about a friend that he helped who passed away from cancer; but I only vaguely remember her.
We pulled up to this strange house and he led me through the gate on the side of the house. He knocked on the side door and I could feel his nervousness radiating through his body. When Ellen answered the door he gave her a hug and kiss, and she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. She told me she had heard so much about me and was so excited to finally meet me.
During our card games, Papa would tell me that he was going to sell his house and move to Nevada, where it was cheaper to live. California was so expensive, they taxed everything. Papa smoked like a chimney and kept Coors in business. Every time a new tax was passed on alcohol or cigarettes in California he'd start up again with how expensive this state was and that he was going to move to Nevada.
Well Ellen's husband had passed away a few years earlier, and she was keen on the idea of moving to Nevada with Papa.
When I came back into the ICU room, he still looked like Papa. I was internally pleading with the world for Papa, my Papa, to be one of those miracle stories. "They took the tubes out and he just woke up!" I was waiting for him to sit up and yell at the family that had gathered for making such a big deal out of a silly little stoke. I was waiting for my Papa to appear.
Papa and Ellen moved to Nevada for about a year, and then decided that the grass may be a tad bit greener in Arizona. They set up residence in a mobile home in Prescott, Arizona. On one of my visits, after I had married Bobby, Papa told me that he was sad that this part of my life was happening. When I questioned him, he confided that I now had a husband, would soon have kids and this meant less time for moments like this; sitting on his porch playing cards. He told me he enjoyed these times, and knew that they would happen less often - but made me promise that they wouldn't stop. I told my Papa that these were the moments that were important and I promised him that I would see him at least once a year, but would aim for at least every six months. He knew the military lifestyle, and knew that we'd be moving often and that life would get busy. I'm proud to say that I saw him at least once a year, sometimes more because, I too, enjoyed these moments.
Come on Papa, wake up! Just one more game of cards...please? He was breathing on his own, no machines were keeping him alive...
When I was in Germany I got a message from my Uncle that Ellen had passed away. They were together for about a decade. Bobby was in Airmen Leadership School, prior to our adoption (or even talks of it). We had just finished a round of fertility treatments and the doctor's were hopeful. I left work and went home to take Lucy for a walk. I just needed time to process. I walked a few miles to where Bobby had his class and waited outside in the shade with Lucy for 4:30 to arrive. When Bobby walked out, tears streamed down my face, and I told him Ellen had passed away. I was worried about my Papa. Bobby walked home with me in the heat, and we bought plane tickets. I flew into Fresno, where my Uncle picked me, and we drove to Prescott to pack up Papa and bring him back to California. This was one of the most challenging moments of my life, up to this point. Trying to convince my Papa that he wanted to live, and that everything was going to be okay. He was just getting over another bout of Cancer, and didn't understand why it was Ellen who passed and not him. Life wasn't fair, how did he outlive two wives?
It was the night of Ellen's funeral that I miscarried...I was only 8 weeks along, but the doctor's thought they had figured out what was wrong and Bobby and I were so hopeful. I took a shower at my Uncle's house that night that was probably the cause of the drought in California...I let the water wash away my grief, the uncertainty of what life was/is, and the hope of having a child of my own.
That would the last round of fertility treatments, I just couldn't do it anymore.
Life wasn't fair, and deck wasn't stacked in our favor.
Last summer, we took the road trip from Arkansas to California. We stopped to see friends and family on the trip there and back, and spent a few days at my Uncle's house with my Papa. Papa was living in a retirement home nearby, he liked to be independent - but was still close enough that my Uncle and the family could check in on him and visit often. Papa and I didn't play cards anymore. He had trouble seeing the cards, and would get frustrated because he'd forget his strategy mid-game. It kind of worked out though, since I had children to mind.
During this visit, Papa went outside to smoke and George must have followed him. George apparently pointed to the pool and Papa asked him if he wanted to get in. George, of course said yes. I came outside to find George dancing pantsless, on the step of the pool and Papa laughing. He told me life was too short and he wanted to get in the pool. He smiled at me and proudly said, "at least I had him take his pants off first."
During the rest of this visit, I kept a better eye on the G's. Papa and I still spent time talking. At the end of our visit he told me his good-byes and I promised I would see him soon. I told him that Justin and I were talking about coming to California for Christmas - and that we'd make sure there was time to see him too. He told me he'd love to see Justin, that it had been too long. He hugged me goodbye and told me he really hoped to see us for the holiday.
Papa made it through the night. They ran some tests and told us that his brain stem was still functioning so his body was breathing, and running but there was no brain activity. There was still hope; the hope of a Granddaughter not ready to say goodbye. I held his hand, listened vaguely as people expressed condolences, heard the pastor when he stopped by to talk to the family, felt the nurses presence as they helped him keep his dignity. The days blurred together - they kept saying he'll go when he's ready. His family from his Air Force days came from Arizona, they were family to all of us. He was hardly ever alone, my Dad kept night vigils and kept us updated of any changes while the rest of the family tried to rest. I sat for hours holding his hand, rubbing his thumb with my thumb...just like he used to do to me.
Last Thanksgiving I called my Mom to tell her that her dreams were coming true; Justin and his boys and my clan were going to come for Christmas. It was going to be a tough one, Justin's first without his wife. I knew Christmas was going to be hard, and knew it was important for us to be together, to support each other.
About 24 hours after telling Mom that we were coming, we found out that we had to be in Virginia in the beginning of January. The only way to still make the trip for Christmas was to pack up our house, out process, tie-up medical appointments, find housing in Virginia, find a school in Virginia, pass our inspection, go to California and then drive directly to Virginia.
Do not pass go, and do not collect $200.
Thankfully family and friends stepped up to help us out, and within 3 weeks of finding out we were moving my Dad was hauling our household stuff in a U-Haul from Arkansas to his house in Maryland with Bobby's red-truck strapped to the back, and we were heading west in our minivan to spend the holidays with my Mom and brother.
I'm so, so happy we got to spend the holidays together.
We even went to see my Papa at my Uncle's house. It really, really was perfect. At the end of my visit with Papa he thanked me for getting my brother there. At the time, it was odd. He then said his good-byes. I brushed him off, and told him I'd see him this summer when we came out for our annual road trip. I hugged him tight, told him I loved him, and to take care of himself. As we left that day, he teared up. That was the last time I'd see his eyes.
On Friday, March 13th 2015 my Papa took his final breath. My Aunt Pam and Dee were talking about old times, I closed my eyes, sitting in a chair next to his bed, and fell asleep. I was dreaming that I was little again. We were sitting at his table in his old house in Merced playing cards. We finished up our game and he said it was time for bed. I got up, put the Lassie cards back in the drawer and gave him a hug good night. He was sitting at the head of his table, where he always sat, finishing his beer. As I walked past he to go down the hall to bed he flicked my pony tail, like he always did. It was at this moment I jumped up from my dream, and he had passed. My Papa passed away quietly, I truly believe he went around the world to make sure everyone he loved was okay before he joined Naba, Grandma and Ellen. That flick of my hair was his final good-bye.
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