Right on cue our daffodils bloomed on the first day of spring. Such a normal thing, but they looked off to me, as so many things have these past few weeks. Our world is forever changed without Papa. The past month has been full of tears and sadness, but also stories and wonderful memories. Papa’s life was rich with family and friends, and the comfort in this family tragedy has been the reminder that our own lives are similarly blessed.
We miss him in a million ways, but most heart-wrenchingly when we think of Patrick, Madeline, and Colton, who knew their Papa for too brief a time. I have one memory of my grandfather who passed away when I was about Patrick’s age. I remember a sunny day in autumn, leaves on the ground, his gentle voice, his pipe. How many of these things are real, and how many are pieced together from old photos and stories I don’t know any more. But I hope Patrick can hold onto a sunny autumn afternoon throwing the football at the UVA game, or the day of his second birthday, when Papa patiently taught him how to swing a baseball bat, or the special weekend the two of them spent together when Papa babysat for him (alone) last spring. I hope he can hold on to the feelings of love and pride and happiness that were evident every time Papa saw his grandchildren, or spoke about them, or called us on the phone to hear about their latest exploits.
We’ll have to tell them about Papa’s quirks, like the way he chewed his food—even ice cream—so slowly; how he spent days carefully wrapping and keeping track of all of the Christmas gifts that filled the room and took all day to open; how he loved cheering for the 'Hoos and the Vols; how he made everyone feel welcome with a wink of his eye, a warm hand on your shoulder, or a special nickname.
It’s our job now to keep Papa’s kindness and good humor alive for these sweet babies, and to honor his legacy by being decent and good-hearted people every day. I’m sure he’s watching them now and surrounding them with his love. We will all miss you Papa.
