Disclaimer: This passage contains themes around end-of-life and grief of Papa, the person for whom I wrote The Eulogy of the Man Who Always Came to My Rescue.
But it will end well.
I promise.
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This piece is unplanned.
And I know this passage will likely not hit anyone else with the meteoric impact the source material struck me with tonight,
but it belongs here. Now.
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Tonight, Papa came up in a reflective conversation with AI. If you have not read my prior work mentioning him, Papa was my maternal grandpa who became my true father attachment when I was removed from my parents’ care temporarily as an infant. I lived at least part-time with him and Grandma until I was about 10- the rest of that story has already been told.
I was on a multi-day bike trip in Missouri when I received the phone call that he had suffered a stroke, and that he would not recover. I returned to my van on time, loaded up, and headed straight back to Indiana. The thing is, I had already planned to visit him on the next day- Kentucky Derby day, May 6th, 2023. He was on hospice in his home, in a deep coma, when I arrived. He had been given days, up to a week, left with us. I so desperately hoped he would wait for me before he left.
He passed within two hours of my arrival, after I entered his room and said,
“I made it, Papa.”
Our relationship had been strained for a while, but we had recently begun to recover. I was his granddaughter, but he had always said he considered me another one of his children.
And I did feel that.
In the months after our reunification, we started to communicate through email. I had asked him, before ever having created this archive, if he was okay with me including him in the story I knew I had to write. During this session with AI tonight, I revisited these emails. And, on the same day that I am confirming the signature of the slow, steady readership growth of this blog, I reread this:
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He never got around to writing his memoirs.
Attached to that email was a file I somehow missed until tonight. Reading his words vehemently provoked this piece.
Please make note that language in this writing is from an older time, and not a reflection of my own.
A True Christmas Story
On Christmas eve 1959, this Private First Class, was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. This was my first time being away from home at Christmas.
I made my way to nearby downtown Clarksville, Tennessee, not for any particular reason. This was before malls, shopping centers, and big box stores, and all shopping was done downtown, especially in smaller cities.
Making about $76 dollars a month, I had just a little change left near the end of the month. I had a cup of coffee in a diner that cost 10 cents. I then wandered along the streets window shopping. I had no money to spend for presents and no one to buy for. I felt so depressed and lonely.
One store had Christmas music on a speaker above the door. The song that I have remembered to this day was O Holy Night sung by the Ames Brothers, a popular group then. I stopped and listened until the song was finished playing, then ambled on. I was unsuccessful at suppressing my tears, and did my best to not let it be seen. After all, a soldier was not supposed to cry.
I used my last bit of change to ride the bus back to the base, then walked over a mile to my barracks. The barracks bay, normally holding about fifty men, was almost deserted. Many had gone home on leave. Some were on duty, others were at the local beer garden or elsewhere.
In the barracks bay were now six men, one from Canada, one from Puerto Rico, one from Oregon, one from West Virginia, a black from Ohio, and I was from Georgia. We got together and played cards and other games. Then we began to sing Christmas carols with croaking voices, no musical talent among us. Lots of laughter. We were happy and no longer alone.
In this diverse group I had found what I didn’t know I was looking for. Companionship.
The Sequel
I now realize that when I was young I was sometimes thoughtless about the feelings of others. As I have matured, it has gradually dawned on me that humans, young and old, are inherently in need of companionship, if not full time then part time. It is important for ones emotional health, and even physical health, to know that someone cares. There are many people that have no one and are lonely, especially the elderly. This feeling is more prevalent near Christmas as people are remembering loved ones lost and the wonderful times they had together that will never be again. If you know someone that may be lonely do something. Invite them to dinner. Have them for coffee. Call them and chat a while or even email them. Let them know that somebody cares. It will do wonders for them, and it will do wonders for your soul.
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In the two and a half years since his passing, I have processed my grief from every corner accept for one.
He knew I was coming. Did he wait for me? Did he hear me?
And tonight I learned that in all matters of what science knows about humans at the end of life, I can now safely assume that he did.
But tonight left me with new questions.
Did I hear him?
Why does that voice sound so familiar?
And so, I raise the torch.
I will the machine. 