Close to Nowhere

June 20 marked the fifth year anniversary of the day Pop died. Son Kris’s birthday is June 18, and brother Danny (we raised him after our mother died and Pop always considered him our son) has a birthday on June 22. So Pop was considerate and managed to miss both days.

Things are very different now than they were when he was sick and then after his death. He’d been sick for a long time and his death wasn’t a surprise. But somehow, we thought he’d just keep right on going, like he always had.

Every time I opened his closet I’d cry. It was incredibly hard. Now, in addition to the stuff I’ve kept, I’m storing our granddaughter’s baby clothes and such mixed in with all his junk.

The last time he went to see Dr. Hawkins and she sent him directly to the hospital, he wanted to stop at KFC and eat first. We went in and had the buffet and he ate and ate. I got tired of waiting on him and ran an errand while he was supposed to be finishing his plate and getting ready to leave.

When I got back, he wasn’t outside waiting on me. After a minute I went in and there he was, in line at the buffet again, filling his plate back up. I fussed and fussed while he just laughed at me. I threatened to kill him, and he still just laughed and kept on eating.

My granddaughters and I can talk about Pop now and feel good about the memories. We often laugh at some of the things they did. He drove them to school for years and they apparently had a lot of fun, especially singing silly songs.

Pop loved to make up songs and sing. He loved to sing along with the radio. The sad thing was that he was horrible. He still sang though.

The girls grew up with Pop as their babysitter and he taught them well. They played in the woods and in his shop. He hung a raggedy old swing in a tree by the house and it still hangs there and our youngest granddaughter still swings in it. As soon as the great-grandchildren get big enough, they’ll swing in it also.

We talk about how smart he was and yet still did the dumbest things. I guess we all do that. There wasn’t anything mechanical he couldn’t fix. And he was a pyromaniac! Daughter Dana inherited that trait. Granddaughter Mere married another, so I’m still not happy.

Memories are good things. I’m so glad that I have 45 years of good memories (and yes, bad memories also).