In Loving Memory

In the final hours of my Pop-pop’s incredible life, my aunt, uncle and I sat around his bed and shared stories. We talked about our family and loved ones, the many people Pop-pop knew and impacted and how much his love and devotion meant to all of us. We assured him we’d be okay – that when he was ready to go, we’d all miss him, but we would live on the way he’d want us to, together in life and love, continuing his legacy of family coming before anything.

We cracked jokes and told him Peg was waiting for him with a cocktail and an eyeroll to whatever quip he’d greet her with. Every so often he’d open his eyes and move to say something. We mentioned the nicknames he gave our significant others – “Billy Bagel” being one of his favorites. He laughed. I told him we planned to baptize Mairin in the summer, his response was somewhere between and a chuckle and a cough, his blue eyes shined. He was happy.

Mostly we just sat, my Aunt Kara holding his hand, me rubbing his back, making sure he knew we were there and that his whole family was thinking about him. During those times of just sitting, listening to the rhythmic in and out of his breathing, I let my mind wander. I thought about my parents and siblings, our collective memory of Pop-pop and everything he meant to us. I thought about the important things we learned from him, the way he lived his life, what he must have been like as a young man. When he finally decided it was time to go, we were there. I wondered if he was scared, prayed that he wasn’t, and then let the tears fall.

Exactly one week later, my little family of three bumbled northward to pay our respects and join our entire extended family in his final send off. The days after his death had been a flurry of activity, writing, and organizing, a welcome reprieve from the grief that was beginning to settle in all of us. Having had lost many siblings and his beloved Peg, Pop-pop knew exactly how he wanted us to say goodbye. Wake – open casket at O’Brien’s, funeral at St. Elizabeth’s, repast afterwards. He wrote out the instructions in his loping, cursive handwriting, along with a draft of his obituary (we used that more as a guide), and his resume (the last line of which was: Health – excellent). So Pop-pop.

It’s been a little under two months since we all said goodbye to him during that family-filled weekend in January. I’d love to recount it all for everyone that couldn’t make it. I’ll never forget watching his casket ascend the steps of St. Elizabeth’s in the snow, carried by his grandsons. I’ll never forget the way his children’s eulogies (written separately) wove together a tapestry of love and laughter, so poignantly capturing Pop-pop’s ethos as a father, grandfather, friend, and mentor. He was a champion of all he met, a giver of anything he had, an always shows up kind of guy, a family man, a girl dad, a hero, a best friend, and a terrible boatsman and golfer.

I’m not sure what the point of this post is, everyone knew how great you were Pop. Truth be told there’s so much more I have to say. Last week I was walking with Jason and Mairin, we were talking about you. Tears filled my eyes as I turned towards the house. A few beats later I heard Jason say, “it never gets easier.” And he knows. Loss is just like that. So, while I grieve you in the present and mourn the memories you live in, I will keep your spirit close as the future unfolds. One damp paper towel at a time. Cheers Pop.