The Passing of a Great Man

It's taken me some time to process his death. I felt almost like I was in shock, only it was no great surprise for Pop to die. After all, he lived a long life and was almost ninety-two. It made logical sense to me, because he had been suffering with Alzheimer's for almost a decade and had completely forgotten me about five years ago. Watching his memorial slideshow today has left me feeling so emotional, so sad, and so full of gratitude. I come from amazing stock and it was all the more evident as every photo morphed into the next. It's hard leaving the nest, moving across the country and telling your young self you can always turn back; you can always go home. Now I am finding how time passes and how entrenched in our own lives we become. I see how hard it is to go back, and sometimes when you get there they don't know who you are.

Pop and I never had a chance to really say goodbye. Our relatives reminded him of who I was when I'd come to visit every year, but after a few years he'd just smile and say, "Hello, Sweet Girl." Soon thereafter he went silent and began sleeping a lot, so in that way I felt his death even before the physical one. Looking back through the memories, I can honestly say I've been one of the most blessed individuals. Pop always took his time making wonderful things for us. I still have my dollhouses, my toy chest, my special lockbox, my cutting board, my bookshelves, and my Frank Lloyd Wright light. He showered all of his grandchildren with handmade wooden crafts, and it is really something to be appreciated. In a world full of plastic junk, I have something of value to pass to my children.

When I think about who Pop was there are a few immediate qualities that come to mind. He was a kind, thoughtful, gentle person. He was always impeccably groomed and extremely well educated. I remember how much he loved nature, taking walks, reading something interesting, singing, making things in his woodshop. He had a love of animals and children. He was a faithful and loyal husband and father. He made each grandchild feel like they were his favorite. He appreciated music and the arts and continued taking classes into his late years. Most of all I miss his subtle and genuinely happy presence. There is a certain loneliness I have for him and it will never be filled. Because of Pop I became someone who loves children and animals, loves to go on walks, make homemade goodies, craft things by hand, sing, and read interesting things. I hope I can follow his example of generosity of spirit and giving my full attention to the person I am spending time with. I hope I can support others and inspire them to achieve wildly romantic dreams like Pop has inspired me.

I don't know if I'll ever be half as classy or successful as my Pop, but he has left his mark on me and I feel so grateful for it.

There was a time where my world was my friends. Everything felt hinged on their opinion of me and I felt guided by my need to create a sort of "family". I remember feeling this way as an awkward teenager and I felt such certainty when I proclaimed to my father, "These girls are amazing. We will be friends for life!" I guess we all feel that way about friendship at one time or another. It's just impossible to see your life without that particular place to belong, the inside jokes, the secrets, the trials and make-ups that most friendships chalk up. My highschool crew was like that. They gave way to a new group in college. They gave way to a restaurant culture, which moved around as I moved around. Then I moved to California and started fresh, scared and lonely as shit. But I remember Papa saying this to me in my early teen years, when I was as close to being in love with my friends as I have ever allowed myself to be.

My father looked down at me and shook his head slowly. He said something I've never been able to believe and certainly never forgotten. "All these people will be strangers to you in less than five years. You'll be able to count your true friends on one hand by the time you are my age." I looked at him with disgust and couldn't imagine ever being so cynical. "Yeah, right."

Not long ago I reached the pivotal age of 30. This didn't seem like such a milestone until recently, when I discovered I no longer felt the same way about friendship. Now I have my own family, and it has eradicated this void I always searched to fill. Maybe I opened up too much or gave myself too passionatley to people that didn't really want to know or have that much. Or maybe the saying is true, you have friends for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. You never know how long someone will be in your life. I guess I just always wanted to belong somewhere, to be accepted and loved like a family member without all the DNA and messy history. In my little imaginary world, everyone got along without incident and had a great time. (Let's be real, family and friendships can be messy at times. We are humans after all.)

I have always defined myself through my relationships and felt almost like a puppet on a string, trying desperately to please each and every person. To be perfect, accepting, loving, funny, nurturing...TRY being the point. And I have failed miserably at some points, and succeeded at others. I look around and I see that it didn't take reaching 50 to have a handful of true friends, ones who have been there for half my life. I see the seasons, the reasons, the illusions I create around myself and people. For what?

I ask myself why I continue to suffer with attachment. Why do I feel this urge to be everyone's friend and to make everyone I meet like me? It feels gross just admitting it, but I feel like it was somehow bred into my very bones. The women in my family all do it, and suffer the consequences.

So now I am left with a new taste in my mouth. I feel the rise and fall of the ocean, the everchanging landscape of my life and feel almost at peace. I feel like I could pull up and move anywhere with my little family. I feel alright that I make mistakes or fuck up and friendships evolve. I see now that old saying is quite true, when one door closes another one opens. It feels surreal to even feel this way, but I see now that accepting change is the only way I can gracefully navigate through life.