Pap

Beautifully, Life on this planet continues, in and of itself, because it can. Adapting to morphological changes within its vessel, Life exerts force enough to change the very planet it inhabits.    The aggregation is unfathomable in its power; each small life begins and ends, replaced in part by the next bit of life. Not necessary equal in our eyes, but equally important throughout the millennia. The cycle is innate, death happens, and is as much a part of our existence as birth. For the world as a whole, each birth and death is a ripple on a frothy ocean. The death of someone close to you is the same global ripple contained in a fragile shot glass, each drop precious, the mental walls infinitely thin and sintered.

It was a Friday, as the sun came up the phone rang, and things changed forever.  It wasn’t sudden, I knew he was weak; I had visited the hospital and saw the concerned family. I spoke with nurses who expertly blended the truth (he’s dying) with the right mix of fact (he is conscious and comfortable) and pragmatism (the medicine helps, but the technology can’t be used forever). None the less, the call is never expected, never easy, never welcome.

Driving to work after the call; it was the same commute, the same cars around me, same trees….”Didn’t the world know? Do my fellow commuters know something is different? Do they care?” Happily no, the world didn’t stop, the ripple was too small. Not famous or infamous, nor conqueror or captain of industry, my family lives on, peacefully and self-righteous. While our loss is tangible, we don’t have to share the memories or defend his actions, it is as he would have preferred it.

Memories are what we have now.

The man in his prime was powerful, hardened by hard work and tempered by experience. Making a point, tenable or not, he had the insatiable fortitude to stand his ground, challenging anyone for whatever reason; with brown gleaming eyes, and a raspy pitched voice. His massive hands, ambidextrous, paw like, scarred, mangled, ready and able to extend his point. People respected this man because they had to, because he was a force to be reckoned with. 

He respected you, if you held your own, stood your ground, and worked hard.  Failing was ok, laziness inexcusable, temerity, tenacity, audacity paramount.

As a child, spending time with him was a gift.  His larger than life frame and personality cast a shadow of security that was undeniable.  On more than one occasion I felt his strong palm against my chest, pushing me backwards, his frame installed between me and whatever concerned him, shoulders squared, broad chin out. Protective almost to a fault, crossing this man was hazardous well into his 70’s.

His personality was large and he moved through this world like a freighter, carrying his loved ones in dry safety while the prow pushed and rolled over the unknown masses, rarely looking back to see the boiling wake of his passing. 

He taught me how to fish.

  

His eyes used to twinkle when he entered a church, as if the effort to contain his personality and “behave” was too much strain.  It was great to be there next to him then, when the twinkle gave way to an offhand comment or ridiculous remark….a cough and a wink. When the audience turned, knowing who the culprit was, he would quizzically feign a shocked look and then grin; mission accomplished. As I sat next to him for the last time, I half expected to have the service interrupted similarly, because he couldn’t stand the pomp any longer. The realization it wasn’t going to happen still hurts my heart.

He loved one woman without question, or limit. 

Disappointing her was the only thing he ever feared.

In the early morning hours of July 27th, 2012, a life ended and a legacy began.