My pop-pop's funeral is in just a few hours. I asked to read a scripture verse at the funeral today. I wish I could come up with something more profound to say at the service- but all I have is a bunch of memories that I don't think I could string into a coherent speech. It's strange how each death affects you differently. I guess in a way I was expecting this soon- he's been sick for over a month. I'm sad, and I'm going to miss him.... but in some ways I said my goodbyes many months ago when dementia took away the man who was my grandfather.
So today I'm thankful for my pop-pop. My parents love to tell the story about the day I was born. My bassinet in the hospital nursery was next to this baby boy who, as my mother says, looked like a baby football linebacker, and had a face that only a mother could love. Apparently pop-pop was incensed that his "beautiful granddaughter" was next to that "ugly baby", and kept insisting loudly that he be moved away immediately. :)
The summer that I was 12, I spent two weeks with them by myself over the summer. It was a huge deal, I got to fly alone, and had them all to myself. Pop-pop made the world's second-best pancakes, (my dad makes the best), and he made them as often as I wanted. My grandmother kept miniature milky way bars in her candy dish, but she was rationing how many I could have because I was "getting chubby". Every so often I felt a nudge in my side, and a candy bar slipped into my hand. One quick sideways glance, and pop-pop just winked and smiled.
He rarely called me by my name, it was always "how's my girl?". And he always wanted to know how many boyfriends I had. When I answered with the usual "none"- he wanted to know if all the boys in school were stupid and blind.
He was a special man. And everyone loved him- especially the little old church ladies. When we went to visit him at the assisted living facility this past Father's day, there he sat with a group of women. He even had the aides wrapped around his little finger. The one girl came over with a bowl of ice cream and said "here Mr. Norman- I put your favorite sprinkles on it for you." And she was all of 16! He just had this way about him that made everyone love him.
I hated to see him like he was these past few months. Dementia/Alzheimer's is a horrid disease. But even up to the last time I saw him, he still called me "his girl". I don't think he remembered my name, but I think he still at least knew who I was. And I'm so thankful, because I couldn't stand it if he'd forgotten me.
As much as I'll miss him, I'm glad that he's not in discomfort anymore. And I'm thankful for memories, and that I have the best pop-pop a girl could have ever hoped for.
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