Tribute to Papa

Monday, April 23rd, 2007, the world lost one more gentle man. Papa went to be with the His Savior with his wife of 60+ years and eldest son, my father, at his side.

A few memories:

Papa Shirts – The rest of the world calls them A shirts, but seeing my Papa in them every morning we visited, to me, they are Papa shirts.

Grandfather clocks – The rest of the world they are the stately figure with a resounding “gong” at every quarter hour. To me, they are a melody that reminds me of many Thanksgivings and Christmas with relatives in Papa and Grandma’s house.

Pop breaks – The rest of the world takes morning coffee breaks mid-morning. To those who knew Papa, we would take a break for a small cool glass of Pepsi and gentle conversation.

Papa chair – I am sure everyone can think of a really cozy oversized recliner chair. That was Papa’s chair. It was a woven golden rod yellow and had wooden finial at the end of each arm rest. Anyone was welcome to sit in Papa’s chair, but we all just knew when he entered the room, we were to give it to him.

The Papa facial rub – We all have things we do the calm down and self soothe. Papa would take his index finger and rub his profile over and over until he fell asleep.

Then you get the Papa snore – After falling asleep in the Papa chair or in bed, then came the Papa snore. It usually brought a smile to any ones face once he started because we knew he was at peace.

I wish very much that I could be with my family at this time to say good-bye together to Papa, but as my sister said, “I live on the other side of Egypt.” Though my body is confined to the time and space of California, my heart is very much in Wisconsin at this time.

“Good-bye, Papa!”

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About bethanyswanson

I am a Christ follower, wife, mother, writer, teacher, artist, cook, sister, daughter, grand-daughter, friend, laundry lady, house keeper, taxi service, sensory of movies and tv, and work in progress.
This entry was posted in Everyday Living, Stories of Home and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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