It's Okay to Remind Yourself "You're Human"

Since losing my Grandfather this past July, just eight days shy of my twenty-eighth birthday, I've realized how truly difficult it is to accept the feelings that accompany such a great loss. For 27.98 years, I had a best friend, mentor, and true cheerleader to confide in with my "Pops". I remember conversations we shared throughout the years quite fondly. He was a prolific man with a life to share, and a world of memories to offer. In his final weeks, we shared one conversation in particular, that I will carry it with me for the rest of my adult life. While the conversation itself was quite private, it is my response that I want to share with you all.

Dancing with my prince charming at my cousin Haley's wedding. He always talked about this dance.  

My Pops was a self-made man, full of intellect. He served honorably and proudly in WWII, came home, started a big family, and worked hard throughout his entire life to provide for each and everyone of us. Even when the going got tough, even when battling cancer, he still dawned his coined signature smile. It was an admirable quality that he had; his ability to smile in even the most dire circumstance.

He always talked about his time with the Merchant Marines.
He served proudly.

In the months prior to his passing, my family made the decision to relocate Pops from his long time home in Cape Canaveral, Florida, back north the the Boston area where he had made a living in his younger years. Even when he was relocated back to Massachusetts, I don't think it truly set in that he was really on his way out. He was still so full of life that it just never seemed real. But I visited him every opportunity I could get.

Visiting Pops in the Hospice a few days before July 4th, 2014.

It was on one of the visits I paid him while he was in the hospice, before being transferred to the V.A. Medical Center that we shared the moment I'll carry with me forever. We began to discuss intrapersonal communications. I'd known for as long as I could remember, that, like my Dad, he was one of the few people who truly understood me in a way that I admit, at times was more than I was comfortable with. The conversation was deep, but light hearted. Many family members will argue that he was too far gone to have a serious discussion with, but I (still) beg to differ. A man with that much intelligence never completely looses it. During the conversation he had stated an observation that really struck a chord...My reaction began with tears welling in the back of my eyes, and overflowing to the front of my irises, until I inevitably couldn't hold them back anymore and began to cry.

 My Pops smiled at me as the tear began to fall, and I scrambled to find tissues before the tears could make it to my cheeks. As I sat there, neatly blotting the tears in feeble attempts to stop them from running down my face, Pops sat there, quietly for a moment to observe, before responding with:

"It's okay to cry Katie, it's just a reminder that you're only human, you know?"

He went on to continue with elaborating that I'm a tough cookie, that I've been dealt a limited hand on many occasions throughout my life, and reminded me sometimes it's good to stop and remind ourselves 'we're only human.' While a simple mind would think "well ya", the truth is that this is something I've battled with for most of my life. The short hand I'd been dealt forced me to overlook feelings, and to operate in such a mechanical way, that it didn't feel natural to feel. Even in his last days, he mentored me; reminding me that we're all only human.

July 4, 2014-My last day spent with Pops before he slipped into a coma just before passing. In his final days I would lay with him. He would get so cold that he would smile and welcome the warm body heat. He was extremely fatigued, but happy to have the company on Independence Day. I'm fortunate to say that it was the last memory we shared together.