There
might never have been 2 people who loved each other more but who were more
different than my Grandma and my Papa. Whereas my Grandma chose to live her
life on center stage, my shy Papa preferred to be in the audience. Grandma’s
distinct laughter and voice could be heard across the room but Papa’s words and
chuckles were soft. Grandma was a fearless evangelist and remarkable hostess.
Papa was consistent, full of integrity, and generous.
With
encouragement from his older brother Bob, he overcame his shyness to ask the
foxy young lady from his church’s young adults group to the USC Homecoming
Dance. Who knew that her ‘yes’ would lead to more than 50 years of a committed marriage?
Perhaps there was still a certain amount of shyness he had to overcome to
propose a little while later, but he was certain of his decision. In a letter
that was discovered a short time after my Grandma died, and that was written to
her before she accepted his proposal, he confessed, “I am positive of whom I
seek. To me she is as true, as real, positive and certain as it is true that
the sun rises in the morning and sets at night, as sure as there are stars and
a moon above, as sure as there is life and death, and happiness and love. For
to me she is happiness, love and life itself.”
On
their wedding day he wrote: “To my dearest Dorothy-the moon and the stars are
ringing this night, and they sing of the love for you forever.”
While
it surprised me to hear such passionate words from my quiet and reserved Papa
about my Grandma, his love for her was obvious to me in the way he treated her.
Sometimes someone doesn’t have to say a lot about people and things they love,
you just know by their consistent actions over a very long period of time. Such
was the way with my Papa. But letters do help, especially when it comes to
someone as soft spoken as him.
And
Grandma was not the only one to receive eloquent letters from Papa. In 1995 I
was assigned a 7th grade writing project
where I was supposed to write letters to someone I wanted to get to know better
over the course of a year. Although I had grown up around and even lived with
my grandparents, I still felt like there was a lot I wanted to know about my
Papa. I was thrilled when he agreed and he was a very faithful pen pal. He sent
me various treasures like his high school senior portrait and a menu from a
military Christmas dinner he attended in Japan in 1949. He signed each letter
with “Your loving pen pal”. Although I can very clearly remember the sound of my
Papa’s voice, I do not remember many things he said aloud, even before his
stroke. The letters my Papa sent me put words to some of the things I already
knew he loved.
For
example, I know he loved USC football because every Saturday during the fall he
would tune in to the game. He was a good sport about ending up with 3 Bruin
grandchildren. When I wrote and asked him about his hopes for the New Year he
responded, “My first hope for 1996 was realized January 1 when U.S.C. beat
Northwestern in the Rose Bowl. How sweet it was.”
I
know he loved cats by the way their personalities made him chuckle. We grew up
hearing stories of his favorite kitties and all the mischief they got
themselves into. He wrote one of his letters from my aunt’s house. “We
are now at Kelli’s” he said. “Peyton is sitting on my lap as I write. Walter is
upstairs sleeping. Kelli says that she thinks she came across her long lost cat
(Whitney). It seems he has been living a few blocks away in another household.
She has no intention to reclaim him at this point because of a possible
compatibility problem with Peyton and Walter.”
I
know he loved classical music. “Thank you for inviting us to your band
concert,” he wrote. “It was terrific. The Clarinet Section sounded particularly
good. What a splendid performance.” I picture him shuffling down the hallway
in their house on Menlo Court in Walnut Creek on a sun-filled Saturday
afternoon. He’s just completed tending to the yard work with Grandma. Now he’s
dressed in a soft flannel, faded jeans and brown loafer slippers. He makes his
way to the family room, selects a record that he puts on the turn table, slowly
eases into the couch and leans his head back, relishing the relaxing melodies.
Beethoven’s 9th was a popular selection
Handel’s Messiah was his favorite at this time of year, and I think of him when
I hear it.
I
know he loved puzzles. I can see him carefully lifting a piece, examining it
closely, and then scanning the table methodically to see where it would fit.
There seemed to always be a puzzle at various stages of completion at my
grandparents’ house.
He
loved vanilla ice cream and milk chocolate. One time my mom had hid the
remaining pieces of a Symphony chocolate bar in the cabinet in Grandma’s
kitchen. She was surprised when she returned to find the cabinet empty and
asked Papa if he knew anything about the missing chocolate. He smiled and
shrugged his shoulders but the next day there was a king-sized chocolate
Symphony bar waiting on the counter.
I
know he loved history by the thick books he kept on his bookshelves and the
documentaries he used to watch, so intently tuned in on each detail. In one
letter he wrote about one of his historical heroes, Abraham Lincoln. “Do you
know that Edward Everett (a noted orator) was designated as the main speaker at
the dedication of the Gettysburg National Cemetery in November 1863. Lincoln
was invited as an afterthought to make a few remarks. After Everett’s two-hour
oration, Lincoln gave his famous address lasting only three minutes. Lincoln
thought his address was a failure, as did the press. Only a few recognized the
true magnitude of the words at the time.” He continued in another letter, “Lincoln
possessed great power as commander-in-chief of the Union and yet displayed
uncommon humanity, truth, justice and pity.” He certainly admired Lincoln.
I
know he loved oceans and waterfalls and mountains. “We just returned from
our annual May trip to Yosemite,” he wrote. “The temperature was mild and the
waterfalls were roaring. We stayed at Yosemite Lodge and the balcony of our
room faced Yosemite Falls. A tremendous amount of water was spewing forth from
the cliff above the valley floor. The view of the cascading water was
spectacular. I hiked from Happy Isles to the top of Nevada Falls. Vernal and
Nevada Falls accentuated the power of the Merced River as it finds its way down
from the high backcountry of Yosemite National Park.”
I
know he loved his country by his service in the military and I know he loved
his church by his years of attendance and participation.
Above
all, I know he loved God and his family.
“I agree with your view as to the
“greatest/most significant event in history,” he wrote. “Certainly Jesus did it
all. He gave us the perfect example for life.”
Papa
loved and respected his Danish mother and his German father, and was so proud
of his two older brothers. He loved his three daughters, my mother and aunts.
He loved my cousins and my sisters and me. He loved attending our sports games
and performances and graduations. His face lit up when he saw us. And a huge
grin spread across his face when he greeted his first great granddaughter
Claire for the first time.
A
year and a half ago, my sister Melanie and I were visiting my Papa and
unfortunately during the visit he had to be taken to the ER for a medical
issue. We went with him. At one point Melanie had to step out and so it was
just Papa and I in the ER room together. I wasn’t sure what his recovery would
be like from this particular hospital stay and so I decided to tell him a
secret that up until that point I had only told my husband. I told him that I
had just found out the week before that I was pregnant and that he could be
expecting a second great grandbaby, but he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone yet
because it was so early. He was in wincing pain but his eyes glittered and he
smiled and promised with a nod. Normandie Mae was born this past January, named
for Papa’s brother Ray, my other pen pal from when I was little. A few months
ago she got to meet her sweet great Papa. Although his health was failing, he
grinned to meet her and stroked her shoulder and held her hand. She’ll grow up
hearing stories of my beloved Papa just like I grew up hearing stories of his
parents.
In
some of his last conscious moments on earth, he was surrounded by his three
daughters, either in person or over the phone. They recounted their favorite
memories with him, asked him to give hugs to their mom and extended family when
he greeted them in heaven. And although he was very weak and so close to the
end, the last words that crossed his lips summed up all he did for his family. “I love you,” he said.
As
eloquent as his letters were to me, mine to him were far too cheesy. If only I
could re-write some of those letters, what questions I would ask him and what
things I would tell him like how special he is to me as opposed to the score of
the softball game I played in that day. But even his responses to my cheesy
questions gave me such precious insight into his heart. For some reason I asked
him what kind of tree he likes best. It was fall at the time. He
responded:
“I
like trees that provide shade in the summer like our Silver Maple in the
backyard and the three Ash trees that protect our front from the afternoon sun.
These trees do shed a tremendous number of leaves from September through
December and you know who has to rack them up for disposal. Even so, this
reminds me that the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer
and in a few months new life will again appear on the trees to announce that
longer and warmer days are ahead.”
Although
we will no longer experience the warmth of his smile and the preciousness in
his eyes, I am so glad that his long nights on earth are over and that he’s moved
into the never ending warmth of heaven. The thought of him reunited with
Grandma and his family and our God soothes the pain of his absence. One time
when I was visiting him and Grandma down in Arizona, we went to the gym and
with Dexter’s help, Papa got right in the pool and despite his handicap, began
jogging laps, helped by the buoyancy of the water. He had such a content smile
on his face and I felt as though I was witnessing a glimpse into the restoration of his body I love
picturing now.
In my
last letter back in 1996 I asked him if he had any hopes for me.
“I
would hope that you would continue to grow in your life of faith,” he wrote.
“In a mere four years we will enter a new century and it is your generation
that will soon take the baton. The 20th
century has been tumultuous, but I am ever confident that you and your
generation will make a difference for good in the 21st century.
With
all my love,
Papa”
Through
his steady life of integrity he set an example in our family for faith,
commitment, and love. I asked my sister how she would sum up Papa. “He was a
quiet hero,” she said. "He stayed true to one woman. He worked hard, provided
for his family, and saved well. He raised three beautiful daughters and served
his country and his church. He maintained a graceful attitude despite a
debilitating stroke while remaining faithful to God until the end." What more
praise could one hope for at the end of life?
I
miss him now, as I do Grandma. But the two of them, each in their own way, gave
us the gift of their faith in God so that we can be confident of seeing them
again when our Savior calls us home.
Until then, I could not be more grateful
for having had such a sweet and loving Papa.
