Dear Papa Bear,
Today you would be 80 years old. EIGHTY! It still hurts to know you never even reached 70; we lost you at a far-too-young 68. You did plenty with those 68 years, and no one could dare accuse you of not making the most of them. But I wanted more. I wanted you to reach 80… beyond, even. I wanted you forever.
Life without you is bizarre. The world is nearly unrecognizable compared to when you left 11 1/2 years ago–we are divided, anxious, cruel, and overwhelmed. Mother Earth is strained, and it seems each new year brings trickier and even more unprecedented times. And yet, the world is just the same as you left it–we help our neighbors, we celebrate victories big and small, we fight the good fight toward (and sometimes against) progress, and we spread love and generosity wherever possible. The trees still shed their leaves in the fall, and bud again in the spring. The rivers find their ways to the ocean. And the beat goes on.
Even I am both exactly and not at all how you left me. Inside me is the girl you raised, the young lady you watched blossom, and the woman you came to know–every version your Blondie. But enveloping those younger selves, is an entirely new human, forever changed by your absence. Losing you fortified me into a new structure. I am weathered, but sturdier and more balanced. I was forced to grow in ways my younger self would never have chosen, but that undoubtedly made me better. I only wish you could see this newer and steadier Blondie. She’s pretty damn great. (And always working on getting better.)
You have two grandchildren you would simply adore. They each carry traits in which you would recognize yourself. And they know about you. I promised you that on your deathbed, and I’m making good on my word. Your namesake, Noella, once asked me, “Is it strange that I miss Grandpa Noel, even though I never met him?” Of course, I told her that wasn’t strange at all, but that it was beautiful because it means I’m doing my job of making sure she knows you. What I wouldn’t give to see you light up in their presence the way Grandma does. She is an amazing, caring, doting grandmother, but I know she wishes she weren’t doing it alone. She’d give anything to be grandparenting alongside you.
On your 80th birthday, I can’t help but wonder about the what-ifs. What would you think about the current state of American politics? As a retired teacher, what would you think about the countless school shootings? What would you think of the upcoming season’s Nittany Lions? What new music would you enjoy right now? What would be your favorite TV show in 2024? What car would you be driving? Who would you be helping? What would make you laugh? What long-held opinions would you have let go of? What nicknames would you call the grandkids? What would you be like today if you fully recovered from the aneurysm and made it to 80? What would you be like today if you never had the aneurysm at all?
There’s no way to know, and guessing is a fruitless effort, but my mind can’t help but go there. So today, I will indulge my curiosities and allow my mind to wander. And tomorrow, I’ll get back to focusing on the certainties. The man I knew you to be. The opinions I knew you held. The music you loved. The ripple effect of the lives you touched. The nicknames you had for me and Kent. The shoulder-jiggling laugh imprinted in my memories. The love you left in my heart forever.
And I love you so…
~Blondie
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