A Sad Good-bye

The man who pulled all my baby teeth because I didn’t trust anyone else to do it, not even my dad. The man who taught me to ride a bike, calling, “Peddle, peddle, peddle!” as he jogged alongside me in his front yard. The man who drove the tractor carefully through the yellowed fields for my birthday hayride parties. The man who came over and built my basement door after heavy snows nearly collapsed the rotting wood. The man who took us into the meadow to see the baby calves and taught us how to hold the sweet clover for the cows to take from our hands. The man who helped us wrangle our 4-H sheep and pigs to get them loaded for the fairs. The man who let us sit in the wagon while he picked the field corn. He taught me the meaning of hard work and honesty. I was blessed and honored to call him my PopPop. His passing yesterday leaves and aching hole in my heart. He has been sick for so long and he has fought so hard to regain his strength. It was the stroke he suffered at the beginning of this year that ultimately ended in him giving up the fight. He was tired, his body was broken and no longer his own. His sense of independence was tortuously gone, having to rely on my Nana for every nuance of self-care. He was a good man and a wonderful grandfather. I was so fortunate to have spent so many happy times with him as a child. It seems unfathomable that I won’t ever hear his voice again with his thick Dutchy accent. Or be able to give him a hug. Or have him joke with us, which was his way of saying, “I love you.” As per his wishes, he will be cremated and my grandmother will hold keep his ashes until she can join him. They want to buried with their beloved dog Duchess, behind the pump house in their front yard. After 62 years of marriage my grandmother is having a hard time coping with the idea of being alone. She sobbed as the funeral home wheeled him out of the house early yesterday evening. She had hugged him and kissed his cheek telling him one last time she loved him and thanked him for “one heck of ride.” We sat with her for a few more hours, reminiscing about the good times, sharing our favorite stories from the past. My grandparents are simple, humble people. There will be no fanfare, no fancy funeral. The out-of-town relatives who weren’t there last night will trickle in to visit with her as 2016 comes to an end. The man who I had written about as my hero in third grade will never be forgotten, his memory will live on in each one of us. May he now rest in peace. Good-bye PopPop.