Kids are funny sometimes.  Just last week when we were pulling into Nana’s driveway, Little M, who’s almost 3 now, looked at Nana’s car parked alongside us and commented,

“Papa’s car.”

Odd.  We never refer to Nana’s car as Papa’s, even though it was their shared car before he passed.  And I couldn’t even recall recently talking about Papa that would have caused Little M to have him fresh on his mind.

I nonchalantly replied to Little M that that’s just Nana’s car now and reminded him that Papa is up in heaven with Jesus.

When we walked into Nana’s house moments later, Little M asked where Papa was, as if he expected him to be there.  Again, we were a bit baffled.  Little M had never done this before, we never refer to Nana’s home as “Nana’s and Papa’s” – Papa had passed away before Nana ever moved there.

And a couple hours later, still at Nana’s, Little M added to our bewilderment when he noticed a pair of Nana’s sneakers left by her laundry room door.

“Papa’s shoes,” Little M said to Nana, pointing to the shoes.

Again, Nana corrected him, “No, those are Nana’s shoes.”

We scratched our heads and exchanged puzzled glances, wondering where this sudden interest in Papa had come from.

There was also that random moment about a month ago; Nana was at our place, she’d shown Little M a photo of her and Papa, probably taken over 10 years ago.  She pointed to Papa and asked Little M if he knew who that was,  and without missing a beat, Little M confidently replied,

“Papa.”

We were both a bit surprised.

And then she’d pointed to herself in the photo (her hair a different color and much shorter than present), and asked Little M who that was.  Funny enough, Little M replied,

“I not know,” or something similar to indicate he didn’t have a clue who that lady was standing next to Papa.

And with all this in mind, I’d like to pat myself on the back for doing such a good job of keeping Papa’s memory alive for my kids, especially Little M who was just a baby when Papa passed, but I can’t say I deserve the credit that would explain Little M’s sudden upsurgence of Papa-awareness.  Whatever the explanation may be (perhaps I’ll have to study child psychology more in-depth for that one), I’m grateful that Papa’s memory has yet to be lost on our kids.  Without much intention on our part, Papa still must be in enough comments or conversations or family photos that his memory is still present.  Somehow my baby boy knows that there’s someone who should be here; someone who’s obviously missing, this elusive “Papa” who must have a car and shoes and be somewhere at Nana’s house.

I’m not talking about some Papa spirit lurking around the corner… that would be just weird, and creepy.  Papa has no need to flit about this world in spirit form; as I’ve said before, he knew where he was going, and I have full confidence he’s quite at peace and fully content in the presence of our Heavenly Father this very moment.

What I am saying is that I find it interesting how it’s not a “given,” it’s not “normal” for Papa not to be here.  He was on this earth and a part of our family and the lives of others close to him long enough for it to seem abnormal that he’s gone.

A couple months after Papa passed, I was out with a couple close friends for breakfast.  We were talking about our plans for the upcoming holiday.  I mentioned how we’d be getting together with J’s family and that Nana would be flying out to spend it with Mark and his family.  One of my friends, kind of looked at me confused and asked,

“Well what about your dad?  What will he be doing?”

I stared blankly back at her for a brief second, wondering what on earth she was talking about.  And then it quickly hit me, she’d forgotten Papa was dead.

All I could do was awkwardly answer,

“Um… he died.”

Of course she instantly felt horrible for forgetting.  This was the same friend who called me the very morning after Papa died to offer her sincere sympathies and love, brought me a meal and offered encouragement at other times.  She knew the real deal and had been there in my grief, but in this brief moment of talking about holiday plans, she’d forgotten Papa was out of the picture.  All the previous years we’d casually talked about family plans for the holidays, Papa had always been very much alive.  It was normal that he should come up now as I talked about what Nana would be doing.  It was normal that my friend would automatically think of him still being here…

What wasn’t normal was that he was dead.

And there was that other time, probably 6 months or so after Papa passed, that time when another close friend was talking to me about some genealogy resource her aunt was crazy-into.  My friend knew how much Papa was into researching all the ins and outs  of our family genealogy and asked if he would be interested in the info she’d gotten from her aunt about this resource.  Again, it took me a second to realize what this friend was asking, that she was speaking as if Papa were still alive, that she’d completely forgotten that he wasn’t.  I tried to make some general response like,

“Well, yeah, probably not anymore.  I don’t think Nana would really be interested because that was more of Papa’s thing.”

I knew she’d feel horrible too, for her lapse of memory, and was trying to avoid the blunt,

“My dad’s dead, remember?”

But my friend didn’t catch on right away and asked something to the affect of,

“Is your dad not into the genealogy thing anymore?”

Crap.  So much for the subtle hint approach.

So I then had to remind her that Papa was dead and of course she felt horrible and it was an awkward few seconds, between this dear friend & me, this friend who’d also called to offer her sympathy soon after Papa died, had come to his memorial service and seen me in tears over the crappy grief stuff.  This friend who very well knew that Papa had died, yet in this brief moment was remembering all the years and years she’d known of Papa being very alive and present.  Who had heard about something she knew he was crazy-into and was wanting to pass the info along to him.  Because again, it was more normal for her to think of him as alive and here than dead and gone.

I wasn’t one bit hurt by either of these close friends forgetting Papa’s death.  I got it, especially since in those first few months following his death, I had to remind myself of that very thing.

I clearly remember during that time in moments of stillness and quiet, when I’d wake up first thing in the morning or be taking a shower, I’d repeat in my mind, over and over, and over again,

My dad’s dead.

My dad’s dead.

My dad’s dead.

Because it seemed so unnatural and surreal that Papa was truly gone.  And I had to remind myself that it was real – he really was dead and it wasn’t just something I’d imagined up in my head.

So if even I had a hard time remembering and grasping it, how much more so for my friends who had busy lives of their own without the constant reminders glaring at them on a daily basis.

And in a strange way, I’d rather have it like that.  I’d rather have the idea of Papa being here be more normal and natural than the idea of him not being here.  I’d rather have people still have his memory so fresh on their minds that they easily forget that he’s no longer with us.

I have another close friend who just months after Papa died, lost her baby girl.  My friend was 18 weeks pregnant and all the usual check-ups and tests had looked great.  She had no indication whatsoever that her pregnancy was not “normal,” that there was anything to worry about regarding the health of her daughter.  Until there was no heartbeat. And all her hopes and dreams and preparations and anticipations were turned upside down as she held her stillborn tiny baby in her hands.  And she had to say good-bye.  “Good-bye” before she’d even had the chance to say “Hello.”

Yet after losing her daughter she was faced with a different kind of challenge.  For where I was faced with people forgetting that Papa had died, she was faced with people forgetting that her daughter had lived.  For her baby girl had lived, for 18 weeks she’d lived in her mama’s womb.  And whereas most of my grief centered around missing Papa and who he was and all the memories I’d shared with him, this friend’s grief centered around missing out on knowing who her daughter would become and all the memories they would have, yet never had a chance to share together.

The “normal” for most of my friends and family included Papa being a part of my life, and yet the “normal” for most of the friends and family of this friend who lost her baby was for her to just have her two boys, no daughter in the picture.  Even strangers would be prone to assume I have a dad who is still living, whereas strangers would most likely never know that my friend once had a baby girl.

I guess it all goes to show that life is precious, and loss is painful, no matter the length of time you get with your loved one.  There’s no easy loss and grief is acute no matter the differences surrounding each unique loss.

For some we grieve what was, and for others, what could have/should have been.

And what we appreciate most in the midst of it is others remembering life, not death.  That a dad or daughter or sibling, mother, brother, grandparent, spouse, friend lived and was loved, and that that fact is not forgotten.  And that the memory of that loved one continues to live on.