March 1, 1927 ~ November 13, 1992
This is me & my Daddy when I was about 7 years old. I was/am a complete Daddy's girl. I was even born on his birthday!He always danced with me. He even taught me how to Jitterbug.
I think this was Christmastime & we were getting ready to bring in the tree. Boy, was that ever a production! I will tell you all about it in another post. This one is about my Poppa.
We lost him 16 years ago. I miss him so much. Daddy died November 13, 1992 (it was a Friday, of course!) at 7:30 PM of metastasized bone cancer. I was
there. I watched. I was 21 years old. It was horrible.
I watched my big, strong P
oppa become paralyzed from the waist down. I watched, as the man who could answer any question put to him, became confused, brain addled & feeble. It almost killed me.I was selfish, I wanted my Daddy. Who was going to walk me down the aisle? How was I going to celebrate my birthday alone? How much were my children going to miss out on by not having the best Grandpa in the world? The sadness overwhelmed me for a very long time. I was angry at God for taking him from us. I stopped speaking to Him for years. It did not help that my family simply disintegrated after his death. But I made it through & came out stronger for it.
I have really been OK with this day for the last few years. Last year I didn't remember what day it was until the day was almost over. I felt really bad about it, too. But my best friend, Carol, told me it just means I am remembering the good stuff more than the bad.
But this year, for some reason, it has hit me hard. Wham! And I am feeling the pain all over again. Seeing my Dad in everything. Wanting to cry at the drop of a hat. Seeing my Daddy in my baby girl.
How I wish he could have known her! He would have been absolutely over the moon about Miss Rowan Catherine-Siobhan. Truly. Finally, another baby girl in the family!
Last night, as my husband was getting ready to take Miss Ro to the store with him & putting on her jacket, he did something that my Daddy had taught me. It is not anything spectacular, but it made me all weepy. He told Ro to make a fist over her sleeves, so that they wouldn't get all bunched up in the sleeves of her jacket.
My Daddy had taught me that & now my husband was teaching our daughter to do the same thing. It is always the little things that get you.
This is my favorite picture of my Poppa with his first grandson, Christopher around 1987 or 88. He was such a good Grandpa!He used to do that with me, too. I just don't think a picture of it exists anywhere.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~~ Dylan Thomas
This is my tribute to my Poppa. My Daddy. I love you & miss you everyday. I know you are in Heaven looking down on us. I feel your presence. I know you no longer suffer anything. I know you are my guardian angel, in life & in death. I will see you again someday & it will be glorious!
A Tribute To My Daddy...
http://damnvoicesagain.blogspot.com/2008/11/tribute-to-my-daddy.html
