Memories of Poppy
The boat was huge and the fishing poles could almost reach the sky. The captain was a big tall guy with a beard and a small voice. He knew the best spots to catch the fish. The morning trips were my favorite with pretty shades of orange, red, and pink skies. The fish was finally hooked and on my pole. I reeled and reeled for a good 20 minutes before I saw the shiny gray and pink fish come to the surface. I looked back at my Poppy and he was hiding his laugh behind a smile. His warm mysterious smile that let me know he was proud and I did good. Salmon fishing will forever be my favorite thing, but that week and the following week will be forever engraved in my brain. My Poppy passed away after our trip, his last week was the hardest week.
My Poppy always wore a flannel shirt. The gold, black, grey and blue flannels mean more than that to me. They are a sweet reminder of my favorite person and all the memories we shared. The person who taught me to read and write and love myself. I remember reading by the fireplace when it was cold, the park on a sunny spring day or under the oak tree on the swing in the back yard.
My Poppy was my best friend. He taught me right from wrong, my love for reading, my strong love for storytelling, and my love for family. Sitting now wrapped in his flannel little memories come back to me. A favorite story that my Poppy would read is titled The Monster at the end of this Book. It’s a story told through Grover from Sesame Street. Every page was filled with him being terrified for every page flip since they were bringing us closer and closer to the end. There were bricks on one page, ropes on another, and boards on the last. All in the effort to stop us from turning the page. My Poppy would pretend to struggle to break the brick wall, cut through the ropes, and damage the boards. After the last page you came to realize silly old Grover was the monster at the end of the book.
I remember one stormy night when I was curled asleep in bed and thunder woke me up. I ran out of bed and jumped into Poppy’s lap. He would always stay up until about midnight every night. He wrapped me in his arms and we went out to the kitchen. There we got a snack of ice cream with strawberries and whipped cream topped off with chocolate syrup, which Nanna wouldn’t be too proud of. We then went back to the living room and I picked up a story book filled with the original fairy tales such as Cinderella, Rumpelstiltskin, Princess and the Pea, etc. He read every story out of the book and I felt safe, warm, and away from the storm.
There are so many memories I have with him and not enough time or paper to write about them. My grandparents have a little patio/deck on the front of the house and my Nanna always fills it with geraniums. Geraniums attract hummingbirds, so my Nanna always has hummingbird feeders out on the porch as well. One day Poppy and I were sitting in the swing on the porch reading The Little Red Hen and in the middle of the story a little hummingbird landed on the swing next to me and listened as well. I must admit it was a little terrifying because hummingbirds have a long beak and my lovely cousin told me it was for them to suck your blood instead of the true fact they use it to suck nectar. Anyways the bird sat on the arm of the swing and listened to the story with me and when my Poppy finished he flew over in front of his face as if saying “Thank you for the lovely story”. It was then that an idea sparked in my head that my Poppy wasn’t only my favorite story teller but he spoke to the animals as well. I say this because there always seemed to be animals around. Whether it was my stuffed lion from the carousel or when we were outside the birds would be chirping but would stop when he started reading. It was like they wanted to listen just as much as I did, like they enjoyed his many voices and soft tones; they were relaxed too.
The week after we came back from salmon fishing was the week he had his stroke. Sitting in the hospital room that night holding his hand and brushing his hair is a day I won’t ever forget. He couldn’t speak or see as he was in a coma. It was one of the hardest things I had to face. Losing my best friend was not something I was ready for at the age of 12. I didn’t know how to cope, so I acted on instinct and just told him stories. My favorite recap from the fishing trip. How pretty my Nanna looked sitting in the chair across from the bed. I told him how silly his hair was when I went in and that I fixed it up really nice for him. The next day he passed away. That day his flannel became my favorite possession. It was my comfort blanket that brought back all the memories of the good and easy days. The days filled with laughter, love, and light. Since my Poppy passed, anytime I see a hummingbird I think of that listening hummingbird on the porch and I get a smile on my face thinking maybe it is my Poppy just sending his friend to check up on me.
He sparked my love for reading and writing. Every story he read with a new voice for every character would take me to that place. A beautiful park with Dick and Jane and their dog or with Peter Pan in Neverland. Books take me to a place where I can escape the real world even if it’s for a short time so I can relax. I always drift into a place of warmth, comfort, and relaxation with the blue, grey, yellow, and black flannel folded around me.
Originally published at mfischer.uneportfolio.org.
