Farewell Pop.

This time last week I was sitting in a car with 4 of my 5 siblings on our way to Auckland to be with our Dad and Nana after recieving the news that our Pop had just died.  Strange that that was a week ago.  Seems like so much longer then that.  So much has happened. So many experiences, emotions, so many people, so much travel.  It's amazing to me how something so sad can bring about so much good.  Our family seems to have bonded in a way I've never seen.  Everyone dropped what they were doing to drive/fly in from all over to be together.  Past quarels and differences were forgotten, or at least put aside, and only love and support remained.  If only we could have learned to be like that while Pop was still alive, if only we didn't need to wait for someone to die in order to show them how much they meant to us.  Ironic, I guess, that someone can be sick for a long time and we can't ever find the time or the money to visit, but as soon as they're dead it's suddenly possible......

Pop was 80 years old.  He'd lived a good life.  He'd been sick for a while, had prostate cancer, angina (sp?), heart problems, stomach problems.  You name it, he had it.  In the last few months he wasn't much of himself at all.  And I'd always thought that knowing someone was on their way out would make it so much easier when it happened. I was wrong. I also assumed that having a knowledge of the plan of salvation, knowing that he isn't lost, simply moved on to the next phase, would make it a happy experience.  Wrong again.  Knowing didn't make it any easier.  Although it did make me more aware that my sadness and grief was for myself, that I was sad I wouldn't see him anymore.  He wasn't sad.  I'm sure he is quite the opposite.  But again, knowing this didn't make it any less painful.

I'm glad my boys have had a chance to meet Pop, be with him, know him a little.  One day their little memories might fail them, so I wanted to write a little about Pop, so that they could one day read it and know about the man who was their great-grandfather.

Pop was a qualified mechanic. He could fix, or make, anything. He loved his cars and motorbikes, a passion he passed on to his sons (my Dad and Uncle). And Pop used his skills to help anyone he could. He was always ready to teach you something. Not loudly or forcefully, but quietly and patiently, showing first by example.

He was such a hard worker. He lived by the motto that "if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing well". So not matter what job or errand or employment he was engaged in, he gave it 200% and did the very best job he possibly could. There was not a lazy bone in his body (I must have inherited those from somewhere else).

Pop loved Nana dearly. I've never seen a man more dedicated to his wife. He lived to please her and make her life easier. He did the dishes every day of his life, to show his appreciation for Nana's amazing cooking. He supported her in whatever interests she had, he stood beside her through any difficulty.

  Pop was a great father. Although he was part of a different generation, one a little heavier in discipline and lighter in emotional expression, he was a great Dad. He had so much patience with his children, he wanted them to achieve and succeed. He worked long hours to give them a private education, so that they would have options. And as they grew he supported them in whatever ways he could. He was proud of his children.

Pop was a great grandfather. He was like a father to my cousins who's fathers where not always present. And he also took time out for us kids. We used to go and spend a week in the school holidays with Nana and Pop, and he always had little projects for us to do in his garage with him, building something, painting something else. I loved the time he'd spend with me. As #4 of 6 children, individual attention was a rare thing, but Pop made sure we got it from him. I have no memories of him every being cross or angry with us when we made mistakes, only ever being gentle and kind.

Pop was a bit of a goof. I don't know if he ever grew out of his childhood. He was always doing something silly to make us laugh. He also enjoyed getting us into trouble so he could laugh at our expense. I remember that when we'd stay at their house, he would encourage us to lick our plates after we'd finished eating, to show Nana how much we liked the food, knowing full well that Nana would come in, see us licking our plates, and send us away with any dessert. He was mischievious like that. I love my Pop, and I'm so grateful to have known him for 25 years. I'm so sad for my Nana to be on her own now, for my Dad to be without a father, but how glad I am to know that he no longer suffers, that he's with his parents, and most importantly, that he is at last being taught the gospel. I look forward to the day that I can give him a hug again.