Looking For Calm

Dear Uncle Don,

It has been seven weeks since my Dad went out for a walk on a beautiful, summer evening in Chatham. He never returned. He took his final breaths here on Earth during that walk. His heart failed and he was gone in an instant. I am thankful that he did not feel any pain in those last moments, at least none that we knew about. My mom and dad had had lunch together just three hours before-they sat outside on what my Grampy used to call a “bluebird day” and shared their last meal. Of course neither one of them knew it would be their final moments together. I am grateful they had that time together just as I am grateful that my children, Jamie and Caroline, and I  were able to spend 8 days with Mimi and Pops before he was gone. We did many of the things that we loved to do in Chatham. Set up our chairs early in the day and went to the Friday night band concert-sang “Bandtime in Chatham,” swam at Oyster Pond around sunset, drove into town for a morning coffee and muffin, dug for steamers at low tide, ate quahogs baked with Ritz Crackers and butter, watched the fog roll in, had Grammy’s fish chowder and watched old movies, a perennial favorite being, “The Holiday.”  No matter the time of year or how many times we had seen it, we all loved watching it together.

The service of remembrance at St. Christopher’s was lovely. My husband Brooks and I were married in this church 18 years ago, and so to be in the sanctuary with dear friends, reflecting on the life of my wonderful dad, brought me solace even in the midst of extraordinary pain. As I shared stories and reflections about my dad, I looked into the eyes of his six grandchildren, and knew in my heart that they would always cherish their “Pops,” “Pepaw” and that they would miss him dearly. I knew, too, that my Dad’s light would continue to shine in them and through them. I looked out at the faces of dear friends, who spanned across my lifetime and the lifetime of my mom and dad’s shared life together. Seeing these friends brought some comfort and sharing stories about my dad did as well because he was such a good man. He was kind, generous, loyal and faithful. Friends remember his warm smile, sparkling eyes, wry sense of humor and his kindness. Over and over again, these were the words used to describe him. Clearly he left an impression on people. I hope he left this world knowing in his heart that he had touched many.

Just a week before Dad died, I asked him about you. “Do you ever feel like you want to see, Uncle Don?” “Do you ever think about him?” “Sometimes,” was his reply to the thinking about you question. His reply to the seeing you question was clear. “I don’t think so.” “What happened to your relationship? Why was it so painful and divisive at the end?” You finally agreed to sell your share of Grammy and Grampy’s  house to my mom and dad-just about a year before I was married if my memory serves me correctly. “There was some anger, jealousy and some competition.” Dad did not say much more, but he did say that losing you was painful. Was it painful for you?

I wanted you to know about your brother because it feels right telling you. It felt strange not to invite you and Brenda to his memorial service, but I am not sure that he would have wanted you there. It was too painful for both he and my mom. There was enough pain on this day but there was also tremendous joy because of a life well lived. My Dad lived a good long, productive life. He worked hard, he provided generously for us and he loved deeply.

I am attaching a copy of his obituary and a copy of the remembrances I shared at his service for you to see. My hope is that this finds you, Brenda, Cathy and Greg are well.

Courtney