What I want you to know about your Papa

Dear Max,

I started thinking about this letter in November of 2008, and for the past year and a half, I have been trying to figure out just what it is I want you to know about your Grandpa Terry. I was so worried that you wouldn't remember your Papa, that you just wouldn’t have any memories of him—and that is what compelled me to write this letter to you.

The first thing I want you to know about your Papa is just how much you loved him and how much he loved you. By the time you are reading this letter, it is likely that you have read many of the posts I wrote about you and your Papa, and how you had more fun with your Papa than you did anyone else. I loved watching you and your grandpa run to all of the clocks in the house and dance to the music and to the cuckoos as each individual clock went off on the hour. You would giggle and squeal, and I can honestly say that you looked like you were having the time of your life by simply being in your Papa’s arms and dancing to the sounds, especially the clock that plays the Beatles song "Hey, Jude." I loved that image so much that we had decided to name our Angel "Jude" if he were a boy--I wanted to think of that happiness of you and your Papa. The thought still makes me smile.

Your Grandpa was just a silly, silly guy, Max, and that is why he was such a good Papa, not just to you, but to your cousins as well. He was not afraid to make a fool of himself and get on his hands and knees and crawl on the floor with you. He was not embarrassed to squeeze himself into a box just to make you laugh. He didn't mind when I pretend rolled my eyes when he would sit with you in the back seat of my car as we crossed the railroad tracks and he and you would in unison yell, "Choo Choo! Hi everybody!" to the invisible trains passing by, our windows rolled all the way down so the rest of the world could hear. He didn't care what anyone else thought when he talked in his silly voices to you or when he trapped you with his legs extended on the coffee table and made you pay (pretend) five dollars to get through. He loved being a ham and a silly Grandpa just for you, and you loved him for it.

You were a very lucky little boy, Max, because you got to celebrate your second birthday with your Papa. Father's Day 2009 was June 21, and with your birthday being June 23, we decided to celebrate both occasions on the same day (Father's Day). It was wonderful to see you with your Papa, both of you celebrating your own special day. Your grandpa bought you a Cozy Coupe for your second birthday, and that day you and he drove it around the backyard. You were so very happy. And so was he.

Max, I am so glad I took advantage of the opportunity to spend some extended time, just me and you, with your Papa this past summer. It was so nice to watch you and him every day, and that week was perhaps one of the greatest weeks of my life and one I will never forget. I loved to watch your Papa sneak you cookies (for breakfast and for lunch AND for dinner) just to make you happy while I watched in pretend disbelief. And then after breakfast, you and your grandpa would walk hand in hand to feed the birds in the backyard. He would give you the corn for the squirrels, and I would watch from the house as you two walked hand in hand back to the house. We drove around a lot that week with your Papa, delivering meals to the senior citizens, and you helped, both of you feeling quite important. I loved watching you and Papa make soup out of salt and pepper and ice chips with the Waffle House ash trays. We went to the antique stores, and I'll never forget one particular antique mall we visited we had the time our life--he went up and down the aisles tooting up a storm and cracking up about it. "Chemo gas," he exclaimed. We were all laughing hysterically, and you were laughing at your silly old Grandpa. That week we went to practically every playground in town, and you and your Papa went down every slide and swung on every swing. We did a lot of walking that week, too, Max, down the street and at the park because your Papa loved to walk, and was walking up until a few days before he passed away.

Certainly what I admire most about your Grandpa is just how strong he was. I can think of no stronger person than your grandfather. Even when he was feeling really, really sick, he didn’t complain and he didn’t let anything get to him, and for the longest time, I don’t think people who didn’t know him even knew he had cancer—he even went back to work when others in similar situations would have been lying in their beds. I'll always remember going to Wal-mart on Christmas Eve 2009 to surprise him at work and see him working as if he didn't have a care in the world. We stood right behind him waiting for him to turn around and see us, and when he finally saw us, he gave that goofy smile we all love.

Max, your Papa just didn’t let anything get to him, and that is something I hope both you and I learn from him—to be strong no matter what and to share that strength with others. I have a bracelet that says "Unbreakable" on it, but to be honest, it is your Papa that was truly, truly Unbreakable.

There is so much I want you to know about your Papa and I could write and write, but I think perhaps one of the most important things you should know is that he was also the single most hardworking person I have ever known. And I have known lots of hardworking people, but I can honestly say he tops the list. While I was growing up, my dad (your Papa) worked 60 plus hours a week, and then would turn around and work all weekend on our farm—cutting and hauling wood, feeding the cows and other livestock, just general farm maintenance. I know I hated it then (because he dragged us out of bed on the weekends to help him haul wood and brush, etc.), but thinking about it now, I realize that’s just who he was and I can appreciate it so much more. He was a worker, and I’d like to say he instilled the value of hard work on me, and I’m hopeful you will have that, too.

As I said at the beginning of this letter, Max, I originally started writing this letter over a year ago because when I found out that your Papa had cancer, I was afraid not just of losing him, but of losing the memories of him, and I wanted to make certain that you would never forget him even though you have lost him at such a young age.

But I have learned a little something, Max, since I started writing this letter. I started writing this out of fear. I confess. I was just afraid.

But now I know that I have nothing to be afraid of, Max, and neither do you. I know it is terribly cliche, but your Papa will live on. I made a promise to him that I would talk about him every day, that I would relive all of those memories so that he is still here and so that we can all remember him. And I know it sounds even more cliche, but your Papa already lives on--in both me and you.

Because as much as I would have hated to admit it when I was younger, I am so much like your Grandpa. I see it more and more every day. I used to be embarrassed when people said I looked like my dad, but now I am so proud that I do. And since you look just like me, you, too, will always have traces of your Grandpa in your face. I even caught myself combining the potato chips the way that he did, something that annoyed me so much growing up. Before I know it, I'll be freezing chocolate candies just like your Papa did. I have his work ethic, his goofiness, and I am trying very hard to get his strength. You, too, Max, will have all of these things because your Papa will always be a part of you in so many ways.

And you should be proud of that. I know he is.

Love,

Your Mom