January - October 2007
August 12, 2005 - 3:50 p.m.
August 14, 1998
Sunday marks the seventh anniversary of my Pop Pop’s death. Strange how much has happened in those seven years. Larry and I were married in a courthouse the day before he died, and I wish I would have called him that night to let him know, even though no one else in the family was aware of the ceremony at that time. I had moved to Florida that June to live with Larry, but I don’t think he realized I was really gone, but rather that I was just visiting. Since then, we’ve bought a house, I’ve had two children and life has moved on. I regret that I never really took the time to sit with Pop Pop and hear his stories of serving in the Air Force. He traveled all over the world, and I only know a handful of those adventures. One being that he delivered my dad in a small room in a city in Japan. Another that we always laugh about is that every time he came home from serving his country, my grandmother became pregnant. Six pregnancies in all, resulting in seven children. He loved to sit by the sliding door and work crossword puzzles. To ease the air after he passed, we commented that we should have just propped him up on that chair, and it would be like he never left. Even after seven years, I still expect to see him sitting in the garage, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.
A year or so ago, my aunt sent me a black and white photo of Pop Pop in his prime, standing in front of a airplane. I hung it in the hall across from a photo of Peyton and Shey. I like to think he’s looking over them.
Remembering Pop Pop
Scruffy shadow scratches my face,
As he whispers -
You get prettier each time I see you.
Cold, dark box now sits on the mantle,
Amidst a string of garland.
Nobody on the front porch -
No one in the chair by the piano -
No more crossword puzzles.
Befuddled Grandmother laughs to loud
talks to much, cooks an overabundance of food.
No one to yell at anymore.
Lingering smell of Chesterfields.