Poppo

It's been several months since Poppo died, and I think it is a good time for me to write down everything I can about my memories with him.  I don't want to miss anything, but I the emotions have settled a bit and I can focus on the joy of things instead of just how much I miss him.  Emily took a lot of pictures of him at Clara's 1st birthday last spring, and it's a nice way for her to have a personal connection with him.  For me, it's a reminder that he LIVED EVERY DAY, right up until he stopped living.  His books in his house had bookmarks in them and notes in the margins - he was constantly learning.  He was computer savvy, emailing often, he carried a cellphone in his pocket and even had just joined facebook!  As fast as the world changed, he kept up and stayed in contact.  Mommo sent out her Christmas card this year with the picture of the two of them, taken mid-summer, because they had already decided that was the picture they would use.  It's absolutely adorable, the joy and love apparent on their faces.  Mommo's grin is the same one you see on a young girl who just got engaged. I like to keep that in my head as the freeze frame while the final credits go past.

When I was really little, I loved to climb on Poppo's lap and he would tickle us.  He always kissed us on the cheek, slurpy and noisy, 6 or 8 times, over the top affection. When I found out he was a doctor (he held a ph d in psychology) I was afraid to cough around him, thinking he was a medical doctor and I didn't want him to think I was sick!! So for a while I'm sure I was acting weird around him but he never pushed me, always just let me be the kid that I wanted to be. (Which was a very weird one. who's surprised?! :) ) 

When I was in grade school, I spent two weeks each summer going to a program called Super Summer, which a program offered to high-ability students for things like creative writing, photography, acting, etc..  I stayed with Mommo and Poppo for those two weeks, and he drove me out there to class at Ames High School each day (Mommo packed my lunch, I remember!).  I vividly remember those commutes, because I would play with the electric windows in their new car (an '89 Buick!).  It was so fun because those controls had a nice click to them, and any car I'd been in before had manual window cranks and a mother telling me not to mess around with them.  But Poppo didn't care, and his window was always down anyway so he could spit out tremendous loogies out as he drove.  It's actually not easy to do without getting spit all down the side of the car, but he was a pro and my cousin and I laughed and laughed every time he did it.  He was a pretty aggressive driver back then, too, so that trip was always really fun.  That Buick is the same one I would borrow to drive back home when I was in college, until I got my own car.  He would pick me up in that car when I lived in Helser, and I would throw my laundry in the backseat and chat to him about how school was going, and what fun I had been up to.  Mommo would have Sunday dinner for me, while I did laundry and studied, and then Poppo would take me back to the dorms with my basket of clean clothes. 

I lived in their basement for two summers, after my freshman and sophomore years at ISU, just like my siblings each did for at least one summer.  I loved that bedroom in the basement, full of books.  It made it feel like a library, with those unique acoustics!  I never read any of the them, though, because the titles were all so intimidating and academic.  But there is also a banner hanging on a wall, with a picture of Snoopy on top of his doghouse, and the quote, "This has been a good day."  At that time in my life, I was really growing into myself and of course there was lots of drama and all the self-introspection that goes along with it.  Reading that banner always made me feel more at ease, like I could get my head above all the day-to-day stresses and realize there's nothing "real" that was wrong.  Travis lived with Mommo and Poppo for a few weeks, in 2005 when he had started grad school at ISU but I hadn't moved from Minneapolis yet.  I was so jealous, but also very glad that he had a chance to share an experience that was so special to me growing up.  I feel like he got to know my grandparents as people, not just the old people who were always at my family gatherings.

Poppo's garden was amazing.  He had vegetables and flowers and raspberries, and cherry tree, and redbud trees that volunteered all over the place - I have two of them in my backyard that are transplanted "weeds."  I loved picking raspberries - black, red, and yellow! Mmm!!!  and eating raspberry shortcake on the porch.  He would offer me kohlrabi and radishes and green beans, but I usually stuck with raspberries and cookies to take back to my dorm room with me.  And his flowers, indoors and out, were beautiful.  Any time there were blooming things, they would have vases and potted plants out that they were actively admiring.  "Have you ever seen such a lovely boogumwhatzihoozit?" No, really, I have not.  They were all outrageously colorful and big and beautiful, and I have no idea what they were.  Poppo was always offering potted plants to me, but I just couldn't take them because I knew I would kill them, and if I left them in his care they would flourish and be truly appreciated.  I nearly killed a Norfolk Island Pine by leaving it in my dorm room over Christmas break (and probably not watering it for most of the previous fall semester), but he resurrected it, amazingly.

We opened our Christmas presents at their house nearly every year, with my aunt's family.  So, 5 grandchildren opened presents together, and after we were done, the adults would exchange.  Mommo was always so busy looking at other presents that she wouldn't open her own, and Poppo would gently remind her, and hand them to her.  That was his role for Mommo, was taking care of the details so she could enjoy the moment.  He did it after meals, when he cleared the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen while Mommo sat and enjoyed her guests, or her dessert (or both!!).  He knew she put a lot of effort into cooking delicious homemade meals and desserts from scratch, so afterwards he jumped into action.  Mommo says he could have sat and enjoyed the company too, but he was too antsy to let the mess sit there.  I can still hear him telling me "Save your fork, hon" because there's a plate of something delicious headed my way for dessert.

One of the things that my daughters remember about Poppo is something that I told them that I remember from being a kid.  When he would burp, he would say the word as he did it - BUUURP.  Writing that story doesn't do justice to the memory like saying it out loud does!  The girls laugh about it and think about him whenever somebody burps outrageously.  I have no idea if he would approve of that legacy but it's sticking with them!

When Emily was very small, Poppo would come to stay with us overnight a few times each spring, because he was serving on a committee that would meet for several days in a row in Des Moines.  He felt he was too old to make that long of a drive daily in winter weather (he was nearly 90 at that time), so he would stay at our house for the night in between.  On one visit, Emily asked him to read The Little Engine That Could to her, and it's a tremendously long book and it was hard for him to read in the dim light of our living room, but he did.  And afterwards, he said that he remembered his mother reading that exact same book to his younger brother.  So, one book ties together 4 generations.  I will make sure Emily knows that story when she reads it to her children someday.

Poppo wore a lot of cologne - more and more as he got older.  I was always sure to give hugs when I left their house, and for the rest of the day, I could smell his cologne on my clothes and in my hair.  The last day I saw him, I hugged him goodbye very briefly because I had planned to be back at their house later in the afternoon.  Plans changed, though, and we didn't make it back there that day, and three days later he was gone.  That brief hug, with him in a chair, is all I have.  No multi-smooches, just a quick squeeze and out the door with my chaotic family.  He had really been getting frail over the past few months, and when we arrived that morning, he was on his way out to go to the store to get bread, because Bette wanted bread for sandwiches for lunch.  I was wracked with guilt because we weren't staying for lunch and I didn't want her to have to cook for us, but here Mommo was sending him to the store while we were there, and I wanted him to sit and visit and be with the kids.  But I didn't offer to do the store run for him because I knew that he liked feeling useful - if you take away a person's usefulness, what do they have left?  So by the time he got back, he really only spent about half an hour with my kids before we had to leave.  He commented that Clara was really walking well - she had been for several months, so I again felt guilty as he mentioned it that I hadn't been bringing my kids by their place often enough for him to notice.  And yet, my family is such a zoo, I didn't want to bring such stressors into their house... anyway, three days later, Dan and I drove to Ames to be with him in the hospital as his body shut down and our family gathered to say goodbye.  I held his hand and told him I would miss smelling his cologne in my hair as a reminder that I had seen him that day.  I told him I would miss him calling me sweeting and kissing my cheek when he greeted me, and watching him wave goodbye to me as I drove away from their house.  I may get teary-eyed the rest of my life when I recall the end of his funeral service, as everyone in the congregation stood and waved to him, as had had done for possibly every single person there as they parted.  My cousin sang and I played a duet during the service, which I held it together for, but I flat-out sobbed when following his casket out the back of the church.  The same church that Travis and I got married in, that my parents got married in, and that Audrey was baptized in, with Mommo and Poppo as her sponsors.  I can't imagine that that memory will ever grow so faded that I don't tear up when it comes to mind.

Poppo is buried at the ISU cemetery.  He was on the committee that organized a lot of renovations at the cemetery, and planned the memorial day service there for many years (I played taps for it during the two summers I lived with them).  It is a very small place, with headstones that match the names of the most important buildings on campus - Beardshear, Curtiss, Marston, and so on.  It is reserved for faculty, but does not allow advance reservations, and once it is full, it's full.  And it may be full now, because there was only one open plot left after Poppo's was purchased.  That is one of many reasons that it seems like he knew that it was time to go, and since it was time, it was time - no drawn-out fuss, just say goodbye.  I haven't been there to visit since the funeral... in my mind, it seems complete as it was and I don't want to add to those memories yet.  It was absolutely a beautiful September day.  Everyone there was focused on celebrating what an amazing person he was and what a life he had.  After the church service, I had told Emily to stay with her Sullivan grandparents while I was a pallbearer with my cousins and siblings, but she straggled loose and found herself in between the casket and the followers, of which Mommo was of course at the front.  Emily walked quietly and somberly behind, and Mommo saw her and was incredibly touched at the sight of the "Littlest Pallbearer."  I know the real reason is less dramatic, that she just wandered into someplace she wasn't supposed to be, but it meant a lot to Mommo.  And I like thinking that Poppo had spent his professional life dedicated to the well-being of children and education of hose who care for them, so it was very fitting to have a single child follow him out of the church where he had held years of parenting classes.  It was like she was representing all those children whose lives he had bettered.

After the burial, there was lunch in the basement, where I remembered he and Mommo so loved to go to Wednesday night soup suppers and Sunday Spud Lunches.  They always invited me to go, and paid heftily into the donation basket to cover my costs too.  I got to tell that story, and a few others, as everybody had a chance at the open mike to tell stories about him.  My favorite was the last one, told by my aunt Janie, about how he and Mommo had gone to visit his boyhood home in Burlington or Ft. Madison, I forget which.  He had been so impressed that the current family had let him into their home so he could see the inside and reminisce.  Mommo said she wasn't that surprised, and that if someone had come to her door and said he'd grown up there, she would certainly let him inside to look around!  Poppo replied to her, "Like hell you would, Bette!  We built this place!"  And my mind is left ringing with the laugh of him and Mommo together, along with his gentle patient voice, reassuring and calming.  On the phone, I would always try to be specific as to when we would arrive for a visit, or with whatever details I was conveying, and he would always reply, "Fine, fine. We'll be here. Okay, bye bye!"  And Travis and I laugh together over remembering him saying, "Well goodness sake!!" wondering if that was ever less G-rated when he was in the Marines. :)  I would imagine it was just the same.  I am sure there was probably a side of him that I never knew, since 2/3 of his life had passed before I even existed, but he was always a constant for me.  And how lucky I am that such a portion of our lives overlapped.  And that he got to be a part of my children's lives - not just meet them, but know them and be amazed by them, and they'll remember him too.  What I wouldn't give for one more cologne-heavy hug!

...and I have to stop now.  My kids are wondering why I'm crying!  I will add to this as I come up with other memories that pop up.  Like the rotten potato story that preceded him joining the Marines, and how he cruised around the South Pacific islands when stationed on Peleliu.  And the joy of seeing him personally greet everyone who came to his 90th birthday party.  And his smug smile after making a particularly good joke, or talking about something he liked especially. And his favorite candy: malted milk balls from the candy shop in Wilton.  He loved Scheherezade and Rachmaninoff's piano concerto (excellent choices, IMHO).  And how he would fall asleep, head drooping or leaned back with mouth agape, at nearly every gathering.  And his fur hat that he wore in the winter and the cap he wore in the summer.  And him holding Mommo's hand, holding the door for her, helping her down stairs, into their car, getting her coat on.  And how he offered to take my dinner plate back to my table for me at my wedding.  And on and on...