What My Papa Always Taught Me

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Growing up, my grandparents weren’t just relatives I visited on one-time holiday get-togethers or family affairs—they cared for me every day after school until my parents could get home from work. My earliest memories weren’t spent in a preschool but at my Memo and Papa’s home. From gardening to cooking, cleaning, organizing, reading, singing in the car, or going to the library, they always ensured I was well-rounded. Even in high school, I frequented their home nearly every day. They weren’t just my Grandma and Grandpa, but my second mom and dad. 

As children, we don’t realize how quickly time passes—especially the time of those older than us. But before we know it, we’re at the age they became parents and grandparents. The time of hand never slows down, we just seem to breeze more rapidly through it. 

One memory becomes a thousand and a thousand becomes a million. And though we can’t recount them all, we know they hold a special place in our hearts. People grow older, and time seems to stand still. We know the end will someday come, and we try to prepare for it. And yet, as Emily Dickinson writes in her poem Because I Could not Stop for Death (479), death stops for no one. It’s inevitable and unpredictable. When it comes, it’s always too early. 

That was the case for my Papa on Thursday, February 20th, 2025. 

Unlike Dickinson’s poem, I know that eternity welcomed my Papa with open arms. That reassurance doesn’t make losing him any easier, but it gives me a peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:6-7). For though I grieve now (and will continue to for quite a while), I can rest assured that I know where he is and will see him again. 

As I reflect on the time we spent together, tears flow like rivers down a gentle stream. Some release sorrow, while others reminisce about the joy of all our years. Pondering the gift of life my Papa was to me, I’ll forever cherish three things: his work ethic, his chivalry, and his faith.

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