One week ago today I attended Papa's funeral. It was the second time I'd been to a funeral, and the second time a grandfather of mine had died. The news came as a shock to us all. It's been a difficult and lesson-filled few weeks.

He was my dad's dad. He was the sort of man who kept quiet unless he had something either very important or very interesting to say.

He was a pilot.

He was a husband.

He was a sailor.

He was a business man.

He was a father.

He was a music lover.

He was magnanimous.

He was my Papa.

I'm sure he had so many incredible experiences I've never heard about before. I'm so glad my dad knew him as well as he did, so I can still hear all about those unheard stories of intrigue and adventure! And especially the boring, every day ones that made up his life.


I saw him a couple of days before he hit his head and left this life. I went to see Nana and Papa, and as usual, wrapped my arms tight around each of them and told them I loved them. We didn't speak much that last visit, Papa and I, but he seemed very happy to see me and I was very happy to see him. We parted the same way we had begun, with hugs and "I love you's". I am so glad he knew how much I love him. The last time I saw him alive, I was driving away from their home that day. There he was in my rear veiw mirror standing in the doorway along with Nana and my aunt, waving a hand in farewell with a big smile on his face. It was a tradition.

Nana waved him goodbye from the same doorway when his body was taken out of their house the day he died. I cry every time I think about that. It's so sweet and sad.


The funeral was hard, but wonderful. Missy and I sang a song we were going to put on a CD and give to him. It was pretty perfect. So perfect that I was suprised I could sing at all when I was choked up so badly thinking about the words and all they meant to me.


He loved music. He had an astounding collection of records that he sat and listened to for hours upon hours. Probably somewhere around 900 records, of which I chose maybe 60 for myself. I've been listening to them, sitting on my bedroom floor, remembering him.

I've been feeling so many different things over the last little while, some dark, some sorrowful, some helpless, and others peaceful and grateful. I know my family has all been going through the same things. It's heart-wrenching and beautiful to see them all during this time of grief. I'll never forget how I felt when I looked at him all dressed in white, laying there peacefully, and told him I loved him face-to-face for the last time.

But that's not what I'll remember most. I'll remember his hugs, his laugh, his dashing bright white hair, his grace, his slacks, shirts, belts, and polished shoes. I'll remember his advice. I'll remember his hands. I'll remember his smile. And most of all, I'll remember the way I felt unconditionally loved when I was with him.