Celebrating Papa
Miami, 1991
A week ago, a relative I love told me my grandfather, my Papa, would be upset with a choice I have made. After I flinched at the thought, I remembered my grandfather was a kind and fair man who forgave choices with consequences graver than the one my relative accused me of. Much graver.
Today is All Saints Day, a day celebrated in Christianity to remember those you loved while they were still flesh and continue to love and miss in death. My grandfather’s name — along with a couple of others I requested — were added to the banners of the little church where we are congregants. It was a little odd to see the names of my Cuban relatives on banners in a little town in Tennessee, right alongside people whose lives must have been very different.
The connection, of course, is that they’re all people who have left their mark on the living. A human truth, no matter where you’re from, or what language you speak.
I’ve written here a lot about my grandmother, a cranky soul whose lessons and love I carry close. But, I haven’t said that much about my grandfather. Maybe because his lessons were more quiet. He taught more by action than by word.
My grandfather watched the 11 o-clock news and went out to buy the early edition of the newspaper every evening. Maybe that’s how I fell in love with news. He taught me to drive, he told me stories about his childhood in Cuba, his schooling in Kentucky, the revolution that forced the uprooting of his family.
My grandfather was the guy you called if your car died, the man who gladly took care of his widowed mother and regularly cried as he washed his oldest daughter’s headstone.
My pastor reminded us today that we will again see the souls we have loved. I hope that to be true. Whether or not that is the case though, I know that what my eyes do not see, my heart does. And, my heart always celebrates how lucky I am to have had a particular man as my Papa.
Whom are you celebrating today?
My great Uncle Arnold – he gave me the nickname “Little Talky.” He always made the time to listen.
Gracias mi hija por tener ese amor por Papa,y el, por su amor para ti,how proud you make me.Muchas lagrimas leyendo tu articulo.
I love, love, love that you trace your love of journalism back to your Papa. No matter your choices that he might have disagreed with, you know he would be extremely proud of the woman you have become and of how intentionally you live your life.
And THAT is the greatest tribute.
Carrie, how is it that, apart from hair length, you look FABULOUSLY the SAME since 1991?!
I have only recently come into more understanding about All Saints Day, and really like the idea of keeping the spirit of those you love alive.
I started to recognize/celebrate Dia de los Muertos about 6 or 7 years ago, setting up an ofrenda on the porch a day or two before Halloween, and then telling the trick-or-treaters about the holiday (before giving out the treats). I did not quite have the heart to set up the ofrenda this year, as my daughter (age 38 yrs, mother of two little girls, 5 & 3) had died a few weeks before. But I will set up the ofrenda in her honor and memory next year.
To anonymous.
My deepest condolence to you and your family,we lost my sister(Carrie’s)aunt at the age of 33, almost 40 years ago, my heart goes out to you.
@anonymous, I am very, very sorry for your loss.
@tisra, it’s called cuban genes.