Kelly

Kelly Harlander

English 1106

Essay 1

                                    Papa’s   Thank You

            As I looked out the window of my hospital room I remember quite clearly the sun shimmering off the river below.  It had been a long three days in labor, and now I was finally holding my baby girl.  I will never forget how beautiful she looked, just like a china doll that would break with the slightest wrong move. Although I was exhausted, the adrenaline was still in overdrive.

            As with all any new arrival we had plenty of visitors waiting down the hall, or should I say that my daughter had plenty of visitors waiting to see her.  As my husband rushed down the hallway to tell them the news I was allowed a few moments of quite with my daughter.  I remember looking down at her and wondering how god could be so foolish.  I was young and had no idea how I was to keep this small child alive for the next 18 years. The silence was broken by the rush of a small stampede headed straight for my child. 

            After some time of visiting the crowd slowly dissipated, and Papa was the only remaining visitor.  In the back corner of my room sitting quietly was my husband’s grandfather.  It wasn’t unheard of for him to be seen and not heard.  He was a very soft spoken man (most of the time) along with that he was hard of hearing (we actually are still debating weather he really was hard of hearing or if he just turned his hearing aide way down so he wouldn’t have to be bothered by things that didn’t interest him).  Papa was in his eighties and rarely traveled from home.  This was the arrival of his first great grand child; therefore, he was willing to give up the comforts of his lazy boy for this special occasion.  Papa leaned over and gently gave me a kiss on the cheek, as he did he whispered “thank you”.  I thought that was sweet and strange at the same time.  Why had he said “thank you” when congratulations would have been the appropriate gesture.  My husband and I pondered this briefly and then tucked it into our mental rolodex.

            Almost four years later it became apparent what Papa meant when he said “thank you”.  Papa had a stroke and never regained normal function.  Although he did get to meet our daughter McKenzie he was to mentally diminished to even be aware she was there.  As he held her for the first time he was merely going through the motions.  Soon after we laid his physical body to rest, his mind and spirit had already met his maker.  The “thank you” was easy to figure out.  He got the opportunity to meet his great granddaughter.  It was as if he could see his future through a crystal ball.

            Looking back on the birth of my daughter I remember the pain, joy, the excitement, and most of all Papa.  I am so grateful for the time that Kati got to spend with him.  How are we to know when our time is up?  When I think back on that day I remember Papa’s insight and try to remind myself that the time I have is borrowed.  It seems that no one understood that more than Papa.  Thanks to him I have a wonderful story to share with my daughter.  He has taught me that life is short, and you never know when your time is up.