The Lesson
A Message for Papa
You'll never know this, but you taught me life's greatest lesson. There have been stretches of time, in the agony of puberty and the confusion of adulthood, where you slip my mind and fade. Then, as suddenly as you left us, I can see your bushy eyebrows in my mind’s eye. I can hear your deep voice. I can see your bright smile.
“Come here, Tiger,” you say, enveloping me in a big, strong hug. I can even smell you– masculine, leathery, soft, calming.
Weeks before you died, we swam in the pool together. And like so many times before, you picked me up with your burly arms and threw me back into the water, sending a huge splash onto my cousins. We laughed, smiled, swam in the sun. The smell of pine and the heat of summer feels like home. Looking back, I was too young to even realize what I was about to lose– what I sometimes wish I could have again.
I was about to turn twelve. Middle school loomed on the horizon. At home, family was difficult. You know this firsthand. You helped my brothers so many times. Your abundance of grace and a giving heart were something I never learned to truly appreciate.
When you left us, it was more than a person that died. The day it happened, I walked into my aunt’s kitchen and saw these people, who I knew and had spent so much time with, whither away into ashen husks. It was like looking at a family portrait with the faces missing.
No, it wasn't just you that died. It's what you represented. And that was different for everyone. For me, it was just grandpa– my only Papa. I never knew my other one. You were what I had. You were at every grandparents day event at school. You showed up to soccer games and you let me explore outside. You loved me, you loved us all. You loved me so deeply, I was too young to even know what that meant.
It's not until today, as I'm writing this, that I understand that kind of love.
Your death was the turning point of my life, the axis upon which everything swings. I can trace it all back to you. The sense of loss. The realization of impermanence. The fact of suffering. The pain of grief. The loneliness of prayers falling on deaf ears.
When I switched schools, I remember looking through the fog-stained windows of the school bus as it drove away for the last time. And in the hazy gray, I could see your smile shining through. But, inexplicably, I closed my eyes and wished it away.
I know you came back to me another time, when we were helping grandma move out of the house. A presence filled the empty hallways and rooms, of which I had spent so many days roaming. Everything was gone, but I knew it wasn’t just the furniture or the pictures missing. It was you. It was in this moment of great emptiness and loss that your face returned to me. I let your smile linger a little longer this time, but just for a moment. Then I closed my eyes shut and turned away, leaving the house for good.
I hope you forgive me. It’s not that I didn’t want to remember you. Seeing your face hurt more than I was ready to admit. So, now, I’m hoping you can come back one more time and give me a chance to make up for it. There’s so much I want to tell you.
Since you left, I’ve grown into a tall, bearded man. I still have your broad shoulders and long legs. I’ve fallen in and out of love, and I’ve studied hard, treated people with kindness, lent a helping hand, and achieved my goals. But I’ve also stumbled and fallen. I’ve pushed people away and hurt them. I’ve shouted, I’ve hit, I’ve retreated to destructive habits. I want you to know all this because I want you to know I would never have been a perfect grandson. But I know, even though you’re gone, I still do my best every day. For others and for you.
I have also lost and grieved many more times. Whether it was a friend, a girl, a family member, a dream, a prayer, a joy. And in each of these moments, my thoughts will sometimes drift back to you. Back to the summer everything changed— when my world got a bit darker.
I hope to see your bright smile once more, in the barren silence of my heart, in every loss and every cry. So that, this time, I can grab hold of your image and keep it there, staring at it, loving it, smiling right back. I hope you’ll see me for who I am today– what I look like, how I act. I want you to see firsthand what you have taught and gifted me.
When I stare at the dreamy haze of your face, and the memories crawl their way back, I will remember life’s greatest lesson: in every loss, there is so much more to gain. In every empty room, there is still a presence. In suffering, we must not close our eyes; we must open them wider. We must feel it. Because the greatest pain often points us toward the greatest meaning.
So smile one more time for me. I promise I won’t look away.
“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
- Romans 5:3-4