Goodbye Poppa

I haven't shared this with very many people but a little over a week ago, on December 7th, my grandfather died. Ralph H. Silva was born on June 25, 1907 in California but everyone called him "Pops". When I was a kid I called him "Poppa". Pops was over 100 when he died and had been declining in health for several years. For the last several years I have been reflecting on his life and our relationship and it was only recently that I realized how much of an impact he had on me and my decision to become a teacher.

One of the things I remember most about him was that he never talked down to my sister and me. He never used that childish voice and mannerisms that so many adults use. I also realized that almost every time we were with him, he was teaching us something. He taught us how to tell when fruit was ripe, especially the strawberries he grew in his small garden. He showed us the proper recipe for filling a hummingbird feeder. One summer, he taught us how to make our own kites and pinwheels. He taught by example by recycling and caring about the environment. A few times he took us up into the mountains with his photography groups and showed us different plants, trees, birds, and animals. He loved the outdoors and capturing nature on film.

Most of my memories of my grandfather have him with a slight smile on his face as if he was the only one in on the joke. When he spoke to us, he would speak quietly and personally as if what he had to say was for us and no one else. He was kind and gentle. The last time I visited before he had to leave home for the skilled nursing facility, I told him about becoming a teacher. He said he was very proud of that decision and he gave me some advice about being a teacher and tricks for handling students. I use what he told me frequently. That was three years ago when he was 97.

My wife and I went to see him a little over a year ago to say goodbye. He was barely aware of what was going on around him and very weak. It was difficult seeing him like that. I always knew him to be very active, preferring to be outdoors. I try to forget that and think more about the tanned man who still walked quickly but frequently liked to sit and listen to the world around him. For me and everyone who knew him, there is a very large hole where he used to be. Growing up, no matter how often we moved, I knew that he was there on East 8th Avenue in Chico. He was the one piece of stability and permanence my entire life.

There will be no funeral or service for my grandfather. He didn't want it and would be very disappointed if we did. Instead, his ashes will be spread off the coast of Mendocino County in California near Fort Bragg. Its a beautiful place he loved very much. Its where my grandmother's ashes were spread almost 20 years ago. Its where they met and where my father spent much of his childhood. I'll visit someday when its not so painful. For now, I'll just try to live my life a little better and try to follow his example and find some way to honor his memory.

Goodbye Poppa. I'll miss you always.