My Pawpaw

I've been waiting for this post all week. Today is the second anniversary of Pawpaw's passing. It still makes me very sad to think about him, his life and his death. He left us much too suddenly. He was a farmer, worked hard his whole life. He grew peanuts, corn, hay and raised cattle. I'll never forget the roughness of his hands.

He always said I was his worst granddaughter. I was. I was also his best granddaughter. I have a brother, and my aunt has 2 sons, so among his 4 grandkids, I'm the ONLY granddaughter.

He went to the doctor on January 10th, 2007 and was told there to go straight to the hospital. Of course my Pawpaw didn't do that. He first went to the farm to give instructions to his hired hand, Lewis, and my uncle Wayne, his only son who worked the farm with him. Then he went to Charlie's, a local greasy spoon, to have dinner and talk to people. He didn't tell anyone where he was going later. He never did want to burden anybody with his problems.

He went to the hospital that night, it was a Wednesday. During the night, the first night he was in the hospital, his heart stopped. Had he not gone in when he did, he'd have died that night. The next day, they put in a pacemaker. The following Monday he had quadruple bypass surgery. He came through all the surgeries like a champ. He was doing quite well.

He was still in the hospital, recovering, when he aspirated on some soup (it went down the "wrong pipe" and into his lungs). That happened on a Friday, the week of the bypass surgery. It immediately turned into pneumonia. They intubated him and put him on a respirator. They tried unsuccessfully to extubate several times over the next few days. On the following Tuesday, January 23, his organs failed and he died. From working the farm to dead in 13 days.

In WW II, Pawpaw was a marine. He served at Iwo Jima, and got a Purple Heart. As they landed at Iwo Jima, his transport went to the wrong place on the beach. After he and another guy were out and on their way, storming the beach, the transport pulled back to go the right spot. Pawpaw and his buddy spent the night in a crater, deep in Japanese territory. I think that's when Pawpaw was wounded. He was shot in the shoulder, if I remember correctly. A few days later, when they were going around to all the divisions and squadrons and such to see who was still alive, they called his name and a buddy spoke up, "He's gone," meaning to the hospital ship. The person taking the head count marked him down as dead. The family was issued a death certificate the following September. He used to get it out and show it to us (pictured left). To this day, when I see the numbers of dead and wounded from Iwo Jima, I don't know in which category they counted him. (I'm reading an American history book, and just came across those numbers and had a teary "moment" looking at the numbers of wounded. Only later did I realize that he was counted as dead! Who knows whether they have gone back and revised the numbers...)

One of the lighter moments at Pawpaw's funeral was during one of the eulogies when the speaker said that he had finally "lived up to his press." Everyone knew the Iwo Jima and death certificate story.

I used to write letters to Pawpaw. He'd even write me back sometimes. I wrote one to him in the weeks before he died that he never got to read. I put it in the inside breast pocket of his coat before the casket was closed.

I can't help but ache, I miss him so much. And now, even 2 years later, the grief still feels so fresh.

I am comforted that I know I will see him again in heaven. I know he's there. And I wouldn't want him to leave that to come and be here with me, but somehow I know that if he could, he would because he loved me so much.