Paw Paw Chick

My Paw Paw passed away one month ago today. He was my Daddy's (Pappy) Dad, and most of the world called him Chick. He was married to my Maw Maw for 61 years, and as she will tell you, they played together as children. Most of my life (and his), he lived in Chalmette, Louisiana, in St. Bernard Parish, but five years ago Katrina forced them to say goodbye to the home they had lived in since I was three years old. They had evacuated to Paw Paw's sister's house in Picayune, Mississippi, with their box of important papers and two clean pairs of underwear. They thought they would be gone from home overnight -- two days at the most. The eye of Katrina passed directly over Picayune, and I remember the ride with Daddy to go look for them the day after the storm. We knew we had to go before road blocks were set up (to keep the vandals and idiots out), and most of the drive on I-10 was in silence. I don't know what you remember from the storm or what you saw on TV, but I'm here to tell you that you can't wrap your mind around the devastation we saw. I know I felt like we were on a Recover Mission instead of Rescue, and Daddy has said since then that he was sure of the same thing. It just didn't seem like anyone could still be alive in the middle of all that destruction.

But they were. Paw Paw and Maw Maw were fine, and they were out with Gertie and Bobby looking for ice when we arrived. They had no power, so they hadn't seen the TV coverage of where their home used to be, and we couldn't convince them that they weren't going home in a couple of days. So we left without them, and two days later, they pulled up at Daddy and Momma's house. Rocky and I lived there, and for the next five months, Maw Maw and Paw Paw did too. I had never lived near my grandparents before, not like my cousins had. My cousins all lived blocks away; I grew up almost an hour across town. I saw them all plenty, and spent the night with them several times each year. But I learned in the five months I lived with my grandparents that I didn't really know them as well as I thought I did.

I don't think you ever really know someone unless you live with them. When you live with someone, you see the parts of them that never leave the house. I learned that my Paw Paw was moody. I learned that he could hold a grudge, something I had always attributed to Maw Maw. I watched these two people I love deal with the grief of saying goodbye to 78 years of familiar places, things and people. SEVENTY EIGHT YEARS. Even now that is hard for me to comprehend and fills me with a sadness I can't explain. I also learned that as painful as that loss was, my Paw Paw was a man of incredible strength. He had his dark moments during those months, but Paw Paw faced this challenge head-on. As soon as he was allowed back, Paw Paw was at his house to survey the damage and salvage anything he could. Even when he slipped and fell, tearing a rotator cuff and reigniting a spinal cord injury that would eventually cripple and kill him, Paw Paw never stopped.

After they moved into a home of their own a couple of miles from my parents, I tried to make sure I spent time with them at least once a week. Eventually, Paw Paw had to give up his driver's license, and these two people who had spent my entire life "dragging the streets" were suddenly penned up by four walls. I know he hated every minute of it, and he certainly wasn't in love with Alabama, but Paw Paw rarely complained about any of it to me. When he saw me, Paw Paw asked about my job (recalling specific details of the last report I had given him) and then when I started seeing C, he wanted to know all about him, too. Eventually, our talks became about parenting and marriage, the things most important to him. It was his purpose, his sole reason for living: family. I heard stories for the first time in these last couple of years, things that I suppose he thought I already knew. I listened to him talk about his memories, the happy and hard times, the triumphs and the regrets. I asked questions while I watched him grow weaker and sick. I grew angry.

I had just finished cooking dinner on a Thursday night in July when Daddy called. It was the third time that week that the nurses called to say Paw Paw wouldn't make it through the night. I was exhausted after the week we'd had and I didn't believe he was really slipping away. By the grace of God, though, I called a neighbor to watch Olivia and C and I headed to the nursing home where he was in hospice care. When I walked in the room and saw him, I knew I was saying goodbye. I am so thankful for the precious hours I got to spend talking to him and holding his hand while he fought to the bitter end. Daddy wanted to get a few hours of sleep and we went home after midnight. True to form, Paw Paw did make it through the night, and he slipped away a few minutes before Momma and I walked back into his room on Friday morning.

After seeing him so miserable and sick, I thought it would be a relief to know he's not anymore. I don't feel relief, though. I just miss him. I walk into his house to visit Maw Maw, and it is strange and not right. The air in the house is different with him gone. As my grandmother would say, he was a little man, but he left such a big imprint on everything he touched. And I miss him.

My Momma's daddy died three and a half years ago, and I still feel the loss as keenly now as I did then. There are days when I still well up with tears that he will never know my husband or child. I'd like to think it will get better, but Maw Maw's parents have been gone more than twenty years and she still cries every time she mentions them. I guess when you love someone that much, there is no getting better. You just get on. So I face the challenge head-on, the way Paw Paw did.