My poppa died yesterday. There is a photo in his home with him, his brother and sister, and their spouses. No one is left in that photo. They’ve all passed on. Poppa’s brother died earlier this year. He was ten years older than him. Its hard not to feel like Poppa had ten more years if he wasn’t surrounded by such hateful negativity and enraged bitterness. His second wife was not a happy person. He was so sick, so put upon by his wife, so ready to go be with Nanny. I’m sad that he’s gone, but I also can’t help but feel peaceful and relieved that he’s not suffering anymore. There have been so many miracles around him and his life and this year is no different. But the end of this story is the happiest ever told because he gets to go be with Jesus and Manzi and Nanny. I’m a little bit jealous. But my heart is also aching from the gigantic gapping hole his death leaves in our lives.
We leave for the airport tomorrow at 3:30am and I’m so scared. Am I doing the right thing? How are we going to get through this transition? Germany is such a new and intimidating experience. I don’t know how to rise to the challenge. I just have to put one foot in front of another and live the adventures Poppa always told me about.
The things he got to experience, the life he lived, they were magical. Traveling and living in other countries, expanding his whole world, there wasn’t a place he couldn’t make home. I want to be open like that. I want to find home for my little family. I hope its right back here. But maybe that’s close-minded of me. Especially with my grandparents passing away, maybe there’s no cornerstones to build upon. Maybe we can be the cornerstones and my family will follow us to some exotic destination.
I feel silly for even thinking it. I just want one more mustachioed spikey kiss. One more, “I brought some candies for the kids.” More more afternoon sitting around playing with my babies who favored him so much.
Peace. That’s what I need. I need to feel peaceful.
