Pawpaw

Pawpaw, my dad’s dad, passed away when I was thirteen years old. On paper, he seems typical of “The Greatest Generation.” He served in the Navy as a chef on a big ship during World War II. He had a long career as a civil engineer, primarily for the North Texas Water Municipal District—which supplies water to many homes where I grew up. He was also a heavy smoker, and emphysema took him fairly young. 

In reality, he was a fascinating person, and I wish I’d been better at getting information out of him. He was pretty quiet, but he loved baseball, was a master at crossword puzzles, and was gifted at drawing and cross-stitching. 

As we prepared for the funeral, the family gathered at their house. As I sat on the porch in one of his smoking chairs, a car pulled to the curb. A woman got out and asked if this was “the Ingrams’ house.” I am pretty sure she knew, but she seemed to want to signal that she belonged here, too. I nodded my head, yes, and she walked around to the passenger’s door. 

My grandfather stepped out of the car. My dead Pawpaw stepped right out of that car and headed right towards me. He said, “Hey, son.” I panicked and rushed into the house, stammering, “He’s here… uh… I don’t know… but he is here.” 

So it turns out that my grandfather’s youngest brother looks exactly like him. That was the day I met Uncle Bob. Uncle Bob just passed away at 91. He held himself to a high bar and, with a uniquely tough kindness, invited others to do the same. He was a lifelong student and always spent his time learning or teaching. And for about five minutes some thirty years ago, he created a tremendous amount of confusion and fear in a younger me. 

I knew with absolute certainty my grandfather passed away. I knew with the same amount of certainty that he was somehow back. My emotional state did not care what my logic had to offer. No matter how strongly I feel about something, it doesn’t change whether or not it is true. Just because I didn’t have an explanation for what I was seeing didn’t mean there wasn’t one. 

Can I accept that my feelings might be very strong and also untrue? Will I recognize that my emotional state can obscure my ability to think clearly? Is it possible there is an acceptable solution beyond what I came up with? 

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.