I met “Papa,” as Traci called him, just a few days before we were married. I’d heard about him and had seen pictures of him, but due to distance, was unable to meet him before the big event. I immediately liked him. What was not to like? He was fun-loving, kind, humorous, rugged, and a jack-of-all-trades. He loved to hunt, fish, be outdoors, and fix things, even things that didn’t really need to be fixed. He was a man’s man. Most important to me, he adored his granddaughter, my wife.
Traci really didn’t have any strong male role models in her life, so Papa came to be that influence. He taught her how to ride snowmobiles, fish and even bait the hook with worms. Mind you, this is the woman who will not touch anything slimy, like bugs or worms, so getting her to bait a hook was a miracle. She had to really love him to do that. After we moved to the LA area from Michigan, Papa and “Nonny” (Traci’s grandmother) were within driving distance of us from their home in Las Vegas, so we spent much of our vacation time and holiday time with them. We were newly married and surviving on the wages of a youth pastor in an area well known for its significantly high living expenses. We needed cheap vacations and they were always thrilled to have us and took great care of us every time we were there.
After a few years of marriage, Traci became pregnant, and of course, along with the other relatives, Papa and Nonny were overjoyed. This was going to be their first great-grandchild. Soon after making the announcement of her pregnancy, Traci miscarried. We let Papa and Nonny know, who then made the trip from Vegas to LA in record time, the speedometer rarely dipping below 90 mph.
Papa loved to go to the store, and would usually do that daily, often more than one time a day. He loved to shop, but more than that, I think he just loved to be on the go. I don’t recall him really sitting too much. There was always something to do, tinker with, repair or explore. There wasn’t too much he couldn’t repair with a little time and effort, the harder the challenge the more he relished the opportunity.
He was a hard worker, and worked right up until his major heart surgery, a year before his death. Those last few months were incredibly difficult. He spent months in the hospital, on a breathing machine, alive but just barely. By then Traci was pregnant again, and was due about two months after his 70th birthday. She went back and forth from LA to Vegas, to sit with Nonny and stand by the man who had meant so much to her. Finally he came home for a short time. I remember sitting with him at a mall while Traci and Nonny shopped. By then he couldn’t talk much (something he had always enjoyed) due to the damage caused by the respirator and his inability to recall the words he wanted to say.
I could see the frustration on his face as we sat. I was hurt, hurt for him, and hurt for me because the man I grew to love, admire and enjoy talking and spending time with was unable to communicate clearly. “Is it frustrating not being able to get the words you want to say?” With great effort he said with a raspy, barely audible voice, “Yes!” I just sat with him in silence. I treasured that moment. That was the last conversation I remember having with him.
Shortly after that he went back into the hospital, and died just before his birthday. Two months later, Alissa was born. He would have been thrilled with her; she looks so much like his granddaughter. He would have been thrilled with all of our children, and spoiled them the way he spoiled Traci. We tell them about Papa every now and then. We tell them about the man who could fix anything, always had a story, and loved his family.
