Those were the words that Beatrice asked me to write on the little card accompanying her cupcake flower arrangement which sat inside his casket and looked something like this (except we had fresh maraschinos on ours):
A couple of times a month, Pepere treated us to dinner, most often at "The 99" and the standing tradition was for him to give Bea the cherries from his pink lemonade. Over the past 18 months, she would bring him some as well, so this exchange of cherries, and their common love of them, was a special bond.
My dad died early in the morning on July 17th, hours after we paid our final visit to him in the hospital. We drove there straight from Storyland, believing he still had a few more days, and looking forward to spending those with him at his home, where he was to return on the 18th. He had a different plan.
Beatrice, your Pepere loved you very much. From the moment he met you, his last grandchild and only granddaughter, you made his eyes light up. In the beginning he often referred to or introduced you proudly as "our little Minh Hanh who came all the way to us from Vietnam," but eventually you became "little Bebe." When we visited him on Saturday and he was in and out of confusion, he was clear as a bell as to who you were and that familiar sparkle was in his eyes.
I don't know what you'll remember about your Pep. There is so much you will never know since you came to Pep when he was a very old man, buy I will do my best to fill you in on all the stories in my memory over time, so that you can have a more complete picture of who he was. So what will you remember from your own experience of four years with him? That he had a walker and you took pride in retrieving it for him and unfolding it? That we ate out a lot with him and he loved food? That I often came home late from work because I was doing some errand for him? Perhaps you have a vision of him sitting on his beloved porch with Atticus nearby? Or do you remember the smell of his balsam pine incense burning? Will you think of him each time you eat kettle corn, a favorite shared treat during our many farmers' market runs? Maybe you won't remember any of these details, but I do hope you remember the feeling you had in his presence, because you were very adored and loved by him.
I want to thank you Bea for how grown-up you acted at the wake and funeral. I will never forget how unphased you were as you prayed and looked at his body in the open casket. You were perplexed and disappointed that you couldn't see his legs and wondered why. It's a good question and I do not know the answer. You asked for one more look before you came back to the house with Truman and Hank to be babysat by Molly and Kate while the grownups greeted those who came to pay their respects. On the morning of the funeral you were so diligent about getting tissues for anyone who you saw crying, and you and your cousins approached the coffin so solemnly and respectfully when it was time for your final goodbye. I never thought of having a camera at a wake, but that was a moment I would give anything to have captured, Pep's three youngest grandchildren looking over him so dearly. Thank you too for your perfect behavior at the mass, for carefully bringing up the gifts to the altar, and for sitting so still on my lap at the burial (except for the moment you jumped out of my lap when the soldiers fired their guns.)
You asked me yesterday "When are you going to be happy again?" I explained to you that people can have lots of feelings at once mixed together, like scrambled eggs, and that even though I was sad at that moment I was still happy too, happy that Pepere's not sick anymore and not hurting and not struggling to walk, and you replied "I don't have scrambled eggs in my heart, I just have one feeling, just sad." I promised you that the sadness would get a little smaller each day and one day it would be almost gone and that we'd be able to think about Pepere with smiles and laughs. You told me I was "the sweetest most amazing daughter of him ever" and it's clear you're learning how to comfort people and how to say the right thing.
When we went to Pepere's house yesterday, you took a few treasures as mementos: a porcelain bell which belonged to Memere, a fairy doll whose origin I cannot fathom, a silver hand-held mirror that I believe was MY Memere's, and some plastic measuring cups, which were your first "toy" at Pepere's house. Excellent choices. May you use them well, remember where they came from, and remember even a bit of the bright and shining light of the man who was your Pepere.
