Monday, October 24, 2022
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Missing you is painful, Poppy. I’m not ready to accept that you’re gone. When I was little, you sang to me Too Ra Loo Ra and you read me magical poems and stories like the Jabberwocky and the Little Button Elves. When I grew up, we still exchanged magic with a dose of reality. We held different beliefs and sometimes we argued. You still loved me the same when I feared you might not. You helped shape my identity using the past and future, by telling me our ancestors’ history and by leaving a living legacy in our family. As I grew up, I watched you become “old.” Despite your stiffening, rickety body, you seemed to soften and share your sentimental side. Your gratitude and touching toasts to Grammy renewed my hope that lifelong love is real for some. You looked back at your life with appreciation and maybe you also looked forward at death with acceptance. When I started a new job in CA a year ago, I did not move for work because I wanted to be with you in the end. I was horrified when I learned during a work trip that you were going to die that day, and as hard as I tried, I failed to reach home in time to see you into the next realm. What’s it like there, Poppy? Hopefully more serene and satisfying than what I might imagine in the mortal plane. Hopefully you’re hitting the greens and the grog in a new world with so many of your friends who were lost, and now found again. Hopefully you have a line of sight to your Sweetie who is so brave and who did all the right things to love and care for you when you lived and when you passed. Hopefully you’re watching over my Dad who admires you as his hero and wants to be like you, and who I imagine won’t be too vulnerable in public until he gets old and sentimental like you did. Hopefully you’ll visit our family in spirit this Christmas for an Irish whiskey and a toast to your life. The parts of your life I didn’t witness feel mystical yet grip me closely like the WWI poetry I’ve read. The parts of your life I did witness were mostly peachy for me, just to be with you. Now, in this part of my own life, without my Poppy, I feel a primal pain. Maybe from being the first grandchild and maybe because you’re the patriarch (as much as I aim to dismantle patriarchy). Now thinking of you and writing your name, I’m seeing In Flanders Fields. I will try to catch the torch and hold it high like you did. I will keep faith with you so you can rest easy; although our faiths did not align, I will keep faith in love. When my mind is at war I will brave it and try to sing and fly. And I will remember you, my beloved Poppy. Rest In Peace… and in Port City Porter. Sláinte and slán go fóill. - Erin
