My Papa Roy was a carpenter. He built things with his hands - reusing old things to make something new time and time again. He had a gift and wasn't afraid to use it. I could only hope to be able to do the same thing just as well as he did.
When I was a little girl, probably just a little older than Mack, he built my sister and I this amazing little tree house in our back yard with wood from the dump. Yes, the dump. It was beautiful wood in our eyes. Wood that we wallpapered and hung things on, and there was even an old window frame with 6 sections that we put curtains in. It was perfect in every sort of way.
I remember feeling like the luckiest little girl in our neighborhood because of it, and although it wasn't the prettiest or most perfect thing he'd ever built, I know from the depths of my soul that it was made with love.
He was a man who loved to create and build, and I think when he used his hands to re-roof our home, or build two different decks on two different houses just in time for a graduation party and then years later, a wedding - he was able to give us a tangible kind of love in a meaningful kind of way ... in his own unique way. A way where work = love.
Papa liked this park. He liked watching the kids play and run and swing. He would sit off to the side and not say much, but he would carefully watch. In all reality, he was probably critiquing the structure and stability of the pieces of equipment his great grand kids were running to and from, but nonetheless, he was happy to be there.
It's funny how visiting a place without the person you're usually with when you go there can change the whole feeling of the experience. He was lying in a hospital bed just a few miles away and we were playing as though it was just another day. There is something so wrong, and yet at the same time, so right about the thought of going on without him ... about playing and running and living while he's barely holding onto life.
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Taking a trip down memory lane can cause a person to remember the very best about a person but also the very worst. There are things you can't help but smile about as you relive them in your mind, but there are also those times where raising your eyebrows and even scrunching your face up a bit are a natural reaction to what you remember.
I replayed several memories in my mind the day we took the kids to the park instead of spending the day at the hospital. Memories that brought feelings of pride and pleasure. Moments that popped in and out of my mind with each little squeal of delight as 3 of his own flesh and blood ran through the park.
I remembered the scanner, his love for cats, the morning newspaper, firetrucks, peanuts and baseball games, and how slow he walked.
I thought of West Seattle, camping trips, the boat, the red van, his locked office, tool boxes, piles of nails, "revving up the BBQ", the way he loved to sing, and his perfectly hung white t-shirts hanging on hangers on the line under the deck.
Saying goodbye isn't easy. Knowing that this might be one of the very last times these beautiful children that are carrying his legacy ever play at this park is sad. Goodbye usually means change, and let's be honest ... change isn't something we're always super excited about - especially when it is the loss of a person or a place.
I pushed Mack in the bright red swing he was too big for and didn't scold the kids for climbing up the slide the wrong way. I walked across the bark chips and captured the people I love most with the push of a finger for hours as I dealt with loss of Papa. He wasn't gone yet, but at the same time he was. Physically, he would never see a tire swing again or sit at the edge of the grass from the bench and watch these moments unfold.
I pushed my pointer finger down over and over, and I kept peace between 6 year-old cousins the best I could as I remembered the greatness of my Papa while celebrating sunshine and childhood in the present.
Change is never easy. Going on without someone takes all you've got. Celebrating the beauty of life is the best option, and that's what we did that day ... and that's what we're doing still.
Choosing to pick flowers and share them with others ...
Watching life go on without a key character in our life story with a sense of sadness, but also with a sense of hope ...
Sitting under a beautiful blue sky and feeling something different, but smiling anyway.
Celebrating time together - because that's all that really matters ...
We all knew that day that things would never quite be the same. Not the same, but still beautiful ... because choosing to see life as beautiful is the best choice you could ever make.
