With All My Love

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 7^th 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 9^th 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 20^th century has been tumultuous, but I am ever confident that you and your generation will make a difference for good in the 21^st 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.