The Number 7

*I originally wrote this piece 3 years ago. I attempted a recent rewrite because we’ve now arrived at the 10 year anniversary of my Papa’s passing, but I wasn’t able to find better words. All of this is still so true and I still miss him constantly. Thinking of my family today as we raise a glass in memory of a truly amazing man.*
7…the number of letters in my name, the number of letters in your name, the number of days in a week, a lucky number for some, the number of days each week that I think about you, the age I was when you took me on my first airplane ride on my first trip to the United Kingdom, the number of years it’s been since I last heard your voice and held your hand.

So much has changed in 7 years, Papa, but not a day goes by that you’re not in my thoughts. I visit Tunnel Mountain every year and sit quietly with you and my thoughts for a while. I know how much you love the mountains.

You were able to know H before you left to live with the angels and I have the pictures to prove it 🙂 I look at them often because I knew that look in your eyes the first time you saw her. It was the same way you used to look at me. Being the first of something does have its advantages…and where I was the first daughter and granddaughter, H was my first daughter, your son’s first granddaughter and your first great-granddaughter. A very special title indeed…she is the one that would have curled up in your lap while you were playing music on the organ. She would have begged you to teach her, the way I did so many years ago. And very patiently, you would have sat listening to the concerts she was performing in your living room. You would have been so focused on her and when she was finished, you would have given her a standing ovation. She would have smiled that smile. And she would carry those memories with her for a lifetime. I know I have…Did you know she sings in choir at her school? Apparently this apple didn’t fall so far from the tree, hahaha. She dances now too and she makes the most beautiful ballerina. I can almost see you in the audience with your video camera. You’d be most happy to know that her Papa has a video camera and it comes to many different functions 🙂

A few years after you went away, P came along. She has your sparkle in her bright green eyes. While it makes me sad that I won’t see you hold her, I know that you know who she is and she, in turn, knows who you are. When she was 3 I found her playing facing a wall and she was talking rather animatedly to someone. When I asked her who she was talking to, she simply said “Papa” and pointed to just a few feet in front of her. I remember forcing a smile, patting her on the head and going to sit down…I had to let what she said sink in a bit. At that time, she didn’t call her Grandpa “Papa”, that was something that didn’t happen until a short while later. Her thoughts were if I had a papa, she should have one too. And she was right. That is how your youngest son has carried on the Papa tradition. And he is a wonderful Papa, he fills those shoes very well. I didn’t speak of you much, at least not to her, and I found it bizarre that she was so nonchalant about the situation when it had given me goosebumps. She’s such a curious little girl, I think the 2 of you could have gotten into a ton of trouble together 🙂

Baby D came into this world 14 months ago. Through him I’m learning just how different boys and girls are. I know you had 2 boys, but man alive he’s a busy little thing. When I watch him figuring things out, I can almost hear the wheels turning in his little head. Everything appears to be so well thought out for him…does planning actually happen this young? I think he has your fascination with planes as well. When we are outside and he hears one, he always searches it out in the sky. I can’t wait for the day when he tells me what kind of plane it is that he hears. I think that if you were here, he would love being out in Devon, hunting for golf balls in the bush with you. Topher and C would probably get in on that too 🙂 Who knows, maybe we’ll go out there one day so Topher and I can show our kids what we did during our summers.

If you were here today, you would be able to cuddle each of your 5 great-grand babies. You could be sharing the fascinating stories of your life and worldly travels with your 4 grandchildren. You could tell me one more time of the epic love story that became you and Nana. You could be sharing more of your legacy that continues to live on and grow. And Nana is well. She misses you terribly, but won’t let the rest of us see her cry. When we talk about you, she softly smiles and gets this faraway look in her eyes, as if she’s going right back to the moment she’s telling me about.

I was once asked the question: If you could have dinner with any single person, dead or alive, who would you choose? I said you. My response must have baffled them because they asked why I wouldn’t have chosen someone like Walt Disney or The Queen? I smiled and responded with “He’s the gateway to my history, where I came from, how I came to be who I am. He knew me like no one else. Praise, feedback, love. I still have so many questions. I want to talk about our lazy summer days and the simple day-to-day things. Catch up together on Dallas. He is my choice.” So if you’re ever up for it, I’d love to have dinner with you…

I saw a rainbow in the sky today, made me smile as I thought of you. I am trying hard to make it through today, trying to focus on the wonderful memories I have of you instead of the powerful sadness that weighs down my heart. What I wouldn’t give to hear your laugh, see your smile and feel your giant bear hugs again…I miss you so much and on this day every single year, the emotions take over and I weep as I think of you, as I mourn losing you just one more time. I ask myself “Will it always hurt this much? Will it always sting so badly?” The only answer I’ve ever come up with is “Perhaps in time it will be better. Perhaps there are better days ahead.” This is one of those habitually grey areas of life…both comforting and unsettling.

To this day I still find it incredibly baffling that the world just continues to move on…I guess in some respects part of me feels frozen in time. It’s hard to continue on when my heart still feels the pain like it was yesterday. I find comfort in the fact that you are in a better place, but I feel selfish because your rest has brought me much pain and try as I might, I’m not always able to escape it. I get angry that you were taken from this world because I still don’t understand why. And I wish that you could help me figure it out.

I hope you are happy and healthy. I hope that I have made you proud and that I can continue to do so. I just wish you could come home.

Missing you terribly and loving you deeply.