Whoa Whoa

I cried a lot as a baby.  My parents say that just about the only times I wasn't crying was when I was sleeping, moving (in the car, in a chest pack, in a stroller) or floating in the hot tub!  The story goes that my grandparents--my dad's parents--were visiting when I was still quite the crier.  I was bawling as my mom changed my diapers and my grandpa, who had been an amateur actor in several Westerns, swaggered into the room saying, "Whoa, there, whoa, whoa!" in his best baby-calming voice (or horse-calming voice!).  I was immediately quiet, transfixed by the big, bushy-browed man cooing over me with such a deep, lulling drawl.  Then suddenly I pipped up with "Whoa Whoa!" A huge grin spread across my grandpa's face...and the name stuck.

My Whoa Whoa died last Friday in the early morning.  He was in good health up until the moment he passed.  In these last few years his memory had started to fade; each time we'd visit or talk on skype it took him a little longer to remember who I was: "It's me.  Sam's girl, Viola, Whoa Whoa."  A light of recollection would cross his face and he'd exclaim, "Viola Pearl!  I'll be darned!"  Somehow he'd gotten it into his head that I'd married Barack Obama--this explained my long absences from the country--and perhaps it is better that he believed that lie.  Angelines never got the chance to meet him.

Living in Spain I haven't gotten to see much of my grandpa in recent years and I am truly grateful for the visit that Lucy and I made to Oakdale last summer.  Some of you will remember that we made a stop by Whoa Whoa's and Uncle Donny's house last summer on our trip down to Sonoma State.  Whoa Whoa was asleep for much of our visit, but he did wake up long enough for us to spend a little time together.  He was happy to see us and we spent a good time chatting and laughing together--he was still making jokes!

When Lucy and I said our good-byes and headed on toward Sonoma, I pretty much knew it would be the last time I'd see him.  I hugged and kissed him and told him I loved him; then we walked out the door.

Living so far away from my family makes me feel that much more detached from the events.  I can't cry with them, partake in the memory-telling, or give my dad a hug.  We spoke on the phone the other night, but there's just not a whole lot to say.  Of couse, we are all glad Whoa Whoa died peacefully in his sleep; that he wasn't ill in the hospital for days or months; but rather at home with his eldest son and care-taker; and above all, that he knew he was loved.  Yet, even with all this in mind, there just isn't anything that can ever prepare you for the hole that a person leaves behind.

I love you, Whoa Whoa.