Soulparking

Friday, 27 May 2005

Pa Paw died on Friday, 27 May, at 1 PM.  I was there with my half brother and my cousin Amber.  We watched as they withdrew the breathing tube and turned off the machines. 

The ICU nurses closed the door on the way out – and we stood there – scared – surreal – like watching some twisted movie.  His children – my dad one of them – didn’t want to see him die.  But us grandchildren didn’t want him to die alone.

His head was warm and I rubbed my hand across his forehead over and over – like I would do a baby.  His eyes were there – halfway open but not blinking.  His lungs up and down in horrid bursts.  I uncovered his hand wrapped in the hospital bed sheets – and it was cold, very cold.  But I took it and held it anyway.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.  What are the last words you should say?  How do you let him know how you felt about him?  Do you make a speech about all the accomplishments he did in his life?  How he impacted your life?  Instead – we just stood in silence for a long time – hearing him struggle for breath.

In the silence, I realized, I held no guilt.   And I owed him everything.

I jumped on a plane in Johannesburg when I got the call from my parents – and flew direct to Atlanta.  And I was taking my seat – 63K – a window seat so I could hide my face when I started crying.  And it hit me – I wouldn’t have been on a plane coming from South Africa if it wasn’t for my Pa Paw. 

It was his idea to talk to my biological mother and have my uncle and aunt adopt me.  My biological father had me thrown into a Foster Home – and put my mother in jail.  He would continue to hound her and destroy my and her life – unless I was given the chance at a new one with my uncle and aunt.

And as my biological mother said (now my aunt) said as we finally embraced at the hospital where my Pa Paw was in ICU:  “You will never know how hard it was to give up your child.  But I have never regretted.”  Then we both started to bawl.  “Please forgive me.”

And again, I owe my grandfather everything.

Even at the end of his life – he started a new one for me – again.

A life that I can now share with my biological brother and mother – along with my parents.  So I lost someone I loved dearly – to suddenly gain two more.  A second mother.  A second brother.

I remember sleeping with my Pa Paw when I had surgery to correct my club foot when I was two.   He always told the story of how I kicked in my sleep and he would wake up with huge bruises – and once with my foot in a cast I kicked him to the floor of his single-wide trailer.

My Pa Paw got me addicted to chocolate milk shakes and grilled cheese sandwiches.  He would take me to BJ’s – where the Dairy Queen used to be.  I remember sitting at these big white tables – and chatting with my Pa Paw – inbetween helping him on his electrical jobs. 

My mom told me that was the last thing he ate on Sunday – before he was rushed to the hospital for pancreatitis – a grilled cheese sandwich.

I remember going with my Pa Paw to the Tara Restaurant and him giving me nickels to play country songs on the juke box.

I remember him teaching me how to build human bird nests in his yard with pine straw.  And as a kid I would sit in them all day and play with my Star Wars action figures.

I remember him telling me about how my great, great grandfather happened to swap property with a rich man in Newnan (who had fought beside him during the Civil War) so the rich man wouldn’t have to be in a duel.

I remember him buying me Hanes underwear every Christmas because he was the Quality Inspector.  I still wear Hanes underwear today.

I remember him using the word – “robut” instead of “robot”.

I still have his arrowhead plaques and his wooden widgets of an ax in a tree stump he made me – and everybody else in Roanoke, Alabama.

And now I remember how the stubborn Jackson came out in him even at the end.  I saw him stop breathing twice.  I saw his heart stop twice on the heart monitor.  But every time I tried to prepare that this was it – his heart would start again.  I saw the mist of his breath in the oxygen mask.

I remember telling him how proud I was of him: “Every class I teach, I use one of your stories.  I bet you never thought that an electrician from Alabama – would be known throughout the world…” 

I remember finding some words to tell him I love him:  “Thank you for saving me, Pa Paw.  Thank you for changing my life.”

Even though all of the family believes he wasn’t conscience when we were there – us grandchildren believe he was.  We saw him looking at us.  We saw him smile.   And then his eyes closed. 

Through our tears, my new found half brother and I smiled back.