Pop is Everywhere
Thank you to everyone for your thoughts, love and prayers.
We are all healing in our own way and the help of friends and family eases the difficulty of the loss.
I have felt Pop everywhere since I have returned to San Diego. Mom found him in New York at Bryce’s baseball games. Colin hears his cane clicking along the ground to feed the dogs in the morning.
When I was home for the “Pop’s Party,” as Colin called the service, I went often into Pop’s room. Among his treasures were bowties from his square dancing days, handkerchiefs with his name embroidered on them, belt buckles, and billfolds he had made. And there were things from Ronnie, his son, his sister, his brothers, mom and his grandchildren. From me, he’d saved a tie dyed item I’d made in 1987 which still hung on his wall. On it I’d written, “you’re my sunshine.”
As I left I was afraid he would stay there and that I would need things—objects—of his to remember him and comfort me when I returned here to San Diego. I took some of the bowties and handkerchiefs. They smell like him.
But when I got back here, I found he was already everywhere. He’d already given me so much to remember him by: his great old metal tool box from the mine he gave me when I moved away to college, my set of pots and pans, the pancake recipe, notes he included with every package he sent me, walnuts in the freezer, the grilled cheese and tomato soup my neighbor suggested for lunch.
Most importantly, I found he wasn’t in the things at all. He was in the waves I surfed, he was in the car telling me to be careful, he was in the sunshine.
“May you live all the days of your life.”
We are all healing in our own way and the help of friends and family eases the difficulty of the loss.
I have felt Pop everywhere since I have returned to San Diego. Mom found him in New York at Bryce’s baseball games. Colin hears his cane clicking along the ground to feed the dogs in the morning.
When I was home for the “Pop’s Party,” as Colin called the service, I went often into Pop’s room. Among his treasures were bowties from his square dancing days, handkerchiefs with his name embroidered on them, belt buckles, and billfolds he had made. And there were things from Ronnie, his son, his sister, his brothers, mom and his grandchildren. From me, he’d saved a tie dyed item I’d made in 1987 which still hung on his wall. On it I’d written, “you’re my sunshine.”
As I left I was afraid he would stay there and that I would need things—objects—of his to remember him and comfort me when I returned here to San Diego. I took some of the bowties and handkerchiefs. They smell like him.
But when I got back here, I found he was already everywhere. He’d already given me so much to remember him by: his great old metal tool box from the mine he gave me when I moved away to college, my set of pots and pans, the pancake recipe, notes he included with every package he sent me, walnuts in the freezer, the grilled cheese and tomato soup my neighbor suggested for lunch.
Most importantly, I found he wasn’t in the things at all. He was in the waves I surfed, he was in the car telling me to be careful, he was in the sunshine.
“May you live all the days of your life.”
posted by S. at 1:33 PM
2 Comments:
Sorry about your loss but its great you got to say goodbye and have lots of lasting memories of your pop. My cousin died last week and his funeral is tomorrow. I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to someone my own age yet.
I was sorry to hear of your loss.
Continue to find comfort in your Pop's presence in your everyday life...
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