"And he works his land with a knowing hand..Thought it's very small he makes it grow so well."
I woke up this morning feeling extra sleepy (I need to stop reading Jane Austen till after midnight!). I got the backpacks packed, breakfast made, kids out of bed...husband out of bed... and everyone off to school with Daddy. I decided that it was 7:30 and being a morning off, I'd lay back down a bit before conquering the day. (You notice, I say "conquering" and not facing...I'm optimistic) As I lay there, I started to pray for my children. I often pray for their safety on the way to school...particularly because my husband is infamous for literally rolling out of bed and into his truck. I really never trust that he's fully awake while driving my precious cargo. Case in point, I made him coffee this morning and he left it on the counter and didn't realize it was missing till he hit 287...so that would be about 15 minutes into the trip already? Yeah, not good. So, anyway, I was praying for my kids' safety and began to think about their amazing qualities. Each of their smiling faces popped into my mind as I covered them in prayer and suddenly I felt a great sadness. I don't know why, but I was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that my grandfather would have enjoyed these kids so much. Now, I truly believe that he sees them everyday from up on high, but I felt an acute sense of loss at that moment. I have no idea why...my grandfather passed away over 4 years ago.
My Pop-Pop was the eldest brother. He often spoke (OK, he was a talker!) of his younger siblings, and even into his late 70's referred to his sister Fran as "the baby". He apparently was born premature and sickly and then spent the rest of his life proving that he indeed was meant to be on this Earth and was the picture of strength and health. He was a caretaker from day 1 and took care of his siblings. He finished school in 8th grade and went on to work at a farm where he fine-tuned the greenest thumb to ever grace this planet (think 12' tomato plants).
Everyone should have a cherry tree.....
He studied to be a tailor (I can't help but think of Mickey Mouse as the Brave Little Tailor, defeating the giant) and was the only person I know who could fix a seemingly ruined sweater. He lied about his age so that he could join the Navy and fought bravely in WWII. Many stories of life at sea and in the Philippines filled our conversations my whole life. I never tired of them. He was an Irishman by birth, but had the complexion of a Puerto Rican and was referred to as, "Blackie" by his fellow servicemen. He was also one of the strongest men I've ever know. I remember seeing old movies of my grandfather throwing his kids around in the pool and wondering how in the world a father of 7 maintained an physique of Adonis (go Grandma!!).
Speaking of his children, besides my grandmother, they were his world. He confessed to me after I bought our house in West Milford that if he had a home like mine in the country, he would've had more than 7 children. My mother was slightly horrified by that revelation....He treated my grandmother like the most important woman in the world. Often filling vases with home-grown flowers and placing them on her kitchen table. He was a die-hard Yankees and Giants fan. So much so that at the end of his life, we wheeled his hospital bed into the living room so that he could watch the Giants lose. I often wish that the last game he saw, the Giants were a little less awful.
Besides his two great loves, his grandchildren were what he lived for. I was his first (lucky him!). When I fell as an insolent adolescent, he lifted me up. When I was a wayward young adult, he loved me and the results of my decisions with wild abandon. He became the most amazing Great-Grandfather to my son and was the predominant male-figure in his life for the first three years of Jason's life. At this point in his life he knew that his time on Earth was limited. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer, the same cancer that took his father, his brother, has afflicted two of his sons and right to this day is taking the life of his other brother. He spent the last 10 years of his life making sure that he left us all with as much of him as he could spare. He showed us all a faith and commitment to his faith that I still strive to emulate. He shared as many stories of his youth with us that we could digest. He built gardens with my son and planted seeds of love, understanding, strength and commitment that will carry my son throughout his life. He smiled, laughed, and cherished each and every one of his grandchildren and great grandchildren. Charlotte was the last great grandchild that he met. I remember lying her in his hospice bed during the end of his life and he would just light up. Suddenly the hallucinations that the medications brought on and the pain of his bed sores were gone and all he could do was focus on her sweet face. She beamed at him unaware of his bloated, sick body and saw only the perfect man that he was.
He's been gone for so long now, but every time the sun starts to set a little bit later, and the seeds need to be planted, or I have a glass of red, my grandfather is right next to me. He's helping guide my hand as I create the rows of tomatoes with my children as they find worms in the garden. He's understanding me when I wonder if this really is as good as it gets. He's so proud of each and every one of my children. He laughs at my feeble attempts at growing pumpkins. Each and every holiday, he is tangible as our family, that he held together along with my grandmother, comes together again and breaks bread, and laughs, and feasts and thanks the Lord that we have each other and know that we will all be together again in eternity.
Enjoying together the fruits of his labors.....
Miss you Pops.
