One year ago today, at around 5:30 a.m., Pappy passed on to the next level of consciousness that our souls encounter, whatever that might be. I had received a frantic call from my mother the morning of July 7th, telling me it didn't look good and I should drive home immediately. When he had fallen a few weeks before and was taken to the hospital, I cried and told my mom "He won't come back out of there. He's going to die in that hospital." That wasn't my pessimistic side talking, that statement felt as true as anything. I literally dropped everything and drove as fast as my little four-cylinder car could go. Around 11 p.m., mom called back and said "you need to be here immediately." I knew he had precious little time left. When I arrived at the hospital, the old brick building shrouded in fog on the hill above Pottsville, he was already unconscious. I sat down by his side, my eyes burning from the trip and stinging with tears, and I squeezed his gnarled hands. He gently squeezed mine back, likely the body's normal reaction to pressure rather than him knowing someone was there who loved him. I leaned in close to his stubbly cheek, his weathered ears, and I said, "Pappy, it's your granddaughter Becky. I just got here and I want to tell you that I love you. I want you to know that I appreciated hearing all your stories about our ancestors, I enjoyed your jokes. Thank you for the legacy you've left behind."
Grandma had been driven from the Reading Hospital to be by his side. She sat in her wheelchair, stroking his tanned hands and jagged nails, and said "Such hardworking hands." She would sigh, and say, "Oh, Pappy." She'd turn to us and say, "He was so handsome!"
Right before 5:30 a.m. on the 8th, he opened his eyes towards the ceiling, closed them, and the bright green heart monitor flatlined. I slid down the wall that had been supporting me, sat on the cold floor staring at him, a hospital blanket covering my shoulders and I shivered. I had never seen anyone die before. We spent another hour talking about good memories of him, of his first few dates with Grandma which were quite funny and helped ease the grief for a bit.
Pappy was a man of few words, but those he spoke he meant. His dry sense of humor, his interest in history and family, his little winks and finger waves, his ingenuity and frugality are all aspects that have been incorporated into the lives of all our family members.
"He is a good peeler of peaches," Grandma declared with obvious beaming pride one day as they canned peaches. In her book, that's a great compliment.
I have a great love and appreciation for the old ways of life, very likely due to being steeped in history and still-working antiques at Grandma and Pappy's farm. I am attracted to men who can work hard with their hands, who know how to treat the earth well, who are able to repurpose items laying around for a new useful task. I know this comes from Pappy.
