My friend and Arizona blogger, the fabulously delicious Miss Shelleigh Spicer, has a great post which she has graciously allowed me to share with PW readers.  Being the dork I am, I couldn’t get the pics in the post, so if you’d like to see them, go to Pixie Lair.

It was a very peaceful day at the National Memorial Cemetery.  The moment I drove through the gates, I was moved to tears… the flags lining the main drive way, cars parked along every road, clusters of people… several solitary individuals, standing before grave markers in quiet meditation.  Bouquets of red, white and blue flowers and miniature flags… small floral banners… a sea of perfect, bronze markers in every direction.  I had remembered Jack’s marker as being in 60/30, so I parked my car, grabbed my note and flowers (and “Jack in the box”) and headed toward where I had remembered it being.  60/30 was not Grampa Jack.  I started walking down row after row looking for his name…. at marker 83 I realized I had slowed my pace and was reading every marker, noting the objects left behind by loved ones… a metal toy soldier, blue glass beads, a budweiser lid, sea shells, laminated photos of babies, medals, rosaries, stuffed animals weathered by the desert sun, faded artifical flowers, fresh cut flowers, hearts shaped with stones, notes in the desert gravel beneath the markers (taking care to step over these, not to disturb). 

The lump in my throat grew larger and it was more difficult to swallow with every step… I walked for a couple of hours, making sure to clearly say the name of every man and woman in my head.  At marker 303 I stopped.  There they were… Grampa Jack (John) and Helen.  I was no longer able to hold the tears back. 

I sat down in the dirt cross-legged, sat “Jack in the box” next to the marker so they could visit and put my hands on the dirty marker, and just allowed myself to be quiet… the wind was blowing ferociously and I was aware of the silence around me. 

I don’t know how long I sat like that (30 minutes?) and I was startled when I heard a man’s voice behind me.  I looked up and a tall , elderly Asian gentleman was standing next to me – in his hand a bucket of water and a small broom.  He said, “I don’t mean to disturb you, but I saw you looking for a long time. I see you found your folks.  I come here every Saturday to clean my wife’s marker and her neighbor’s.  Would you like to use my bucket?”.  I replied that yes, I would and he quickly brushed the sand and desert silt away with his little whisk broom, then handed me the bucket and a sponge.  I washed the marker off while he spoke.  “My wife was in the Army, a nurse.  She passed away 3 years ago.  She was the most beautiful woman I ever knew – she looked a little like you, petite and pink.” We both laughed.  He held out his hand and introduced himself as Paul, I shook it.  He said he understands it is hard for family members to get to the cemetery as often as they would like and assured me he would make sure Jack and Helen and their neighbors were tended to every Saturday.  I thanked him and wanted to hug him… and the tears came again.  We said good-bye and I watched him walk back to his wife’s marker and stand… eyes closed, hands clasped behind his back.  I stayed a little while longer, then rose, to leave.  Paul had left so I walked to his wife’s marker… Pearl.  “Pearl, meet Jack and Helen”, I whispered. 

I hope to see Paul again… next Saturday.

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Dear Grampa Jack,

I just wanted to take a minute to tell you I love you… and I miss you. The day you died was sunny… warm… and you were surrounded by people who loved you.

The last time I saw you (4 days before you passed), you slept a lot but you were so awake and aware when you were not sleeping. You laughed and pulled your beanie off your head to show off your baldness. I remember thinking you looked exactly like you, bald and all. You were shrinking from the Chemo – Mom warned me … but you looked the same, just right to me.

I pulled my chair closer to you that day so we could flip through photo albums… you taking care to name every person in every photo… you and Barry (Goldwater) pulling on Helen’s arms in a mock fight for the beautiful girl… both of you in uniform… she with her beautiful broad smile and perfectly skip-waved hair… her dress pressed just so”. Your beautiful sky-blue eyes piercing even in sepia.

Every now and then, that day, you’d look up and speak to Gabby. She was at your feet which were warm and comfy in their hand-knitted booties, smiling shyly, but making eye contact… and never letting her left hand stray from your foot.

J took Gabby out to the yard to pick oranges. You asked me if you could give Gabby a gift.

I think it was at that moment I knew you were going. You were giving things, important things away.

When Gabby came back in with her shopping bag bursting with warm navel oranges, you handed her a wooden box… she crawled up into your lap (and I saw you put your face into her hair… I saw you smelling her and wrapping your tired, phlebotomist-assaulted arms around her) and I watched her relax and melt into you. Her head laying back on your shoulder, you pushed the magic button on the box and out popped Jack… “Jack in the Box”. You told her if she ever had a bad day or missed you, she just had to push the magic button and out would come Jack to make her day better…. And you squeezed her… and you both fell asleep.

Well, Grampa Jack, I’m not sure Gabby has pushed the magic button very often, if ever, but she guards that wooden box with her life. At 6, she doesn’t have worries or concerns that cannot be alleviated or soothed by me… but I want you to know I push that magic button all the time… sometimes several times a day and all I see is blue eyes – bluer than I’ve ever seen…and a slide show starts in my mind… sepia photos of brave men in uniform…. Your stories of courage and color…the way I actually heard the wind in my ears and my belly lifting to my throat when you’d speak of flying … I wish I could remember the letters and numbers of all those planes… I just can’t yet.

The Cemetery gates don’t open until 8… but I’ll be there, with bells on…

I will bring you carnations and cookies and we’ll chat. And I’ll bring Jack.

I love you and I miss you.

…and I THANK YOU.

Happy Veterans Day Grampa Jack.

PS:  if you don’t have someone in mind to thank, you might take a look HERE.