Goodbye Papa...

Yesterday on Thursday December 5^th, 2013 we laid my grandpa to rest.  His service was held at Fairhaven Cemetery in Santa Ana in the Waverley Chapel. 

Let me begin by telling you what kind of a man my Papa was. 

He was born in 1915 in Indiana and grew up poor as most did in those times.  His parents, he and his sister eventually moved out here in SoCal.  He met my grandma at a dance in Laguna Beach and they married shortly after.  My grandma had troubles getting pregnant so they adopted my Aunt Diane.  2 years later the pregnancy became a reality and my mom was born. 

Papa worked a bunch of different jobs but landed on the Santa Ana Fire Department and proudly worked there for 34 years.  He was feared and respected by all.  There was the Fireman’s Way and then there was Woody’s Way.  Not many argued with him and those who did were always met with what a stubborn ornery man he was.  Stories from the Fire Department range from him putting a man’s cigar out in his potato salad when he wouldn’t put it out after Papa told him, to him folding a man up like a taco in his mattress and throwing him down the pole 2 stories because he wouldn’t get out of bed.  The fireman wore boots with smooth soles until Papa fought to have them changed to serrated so his men wouldn’t slip.  He was so proud of his job and his men and it showed in his work ethic and how the men looked up to him.  I remember growing up, I would be chatting with a fireman and mention that Woody Woodyard was my Papa.  This would be followed by a smile and reaction then usually a story of something he did. 

My Papa was a builder.  He would fix absolutely anything.  He loved to work with his hands.  He made birdhouses for my mom that she then painted and sold in boutiques.  He built all sorts of random stands and chairs and contraptions for around the house.  He painted his house a few times, once when he was 93!  He is most known for building the house that our family vacationed at for many years out in Joshua Tree.  No plans mind you.  Just him and his buddy Ralph.  The only oops was that they built the house around the furniture and when it came time for us to sell it, let’s just say getting that furniture out was a comedy routine. 

He and my grandma were part of a camping group called The Alpine Andy Group.  They went camping once a month for years.  Sometimes me and my friend Amy who was the granddaughter of another couple and dear friends of my grandparents would go and camp with them.  One time they, with a few other married friends of theirs took 6 weeks off and drove across the United States in their RV’s.  Papa loved to fish and was weirdly good at it.  He could catch anything.  He taught my brother everything he knows about fishing.

He loved my grandma more than I have ever seen one person love another.  They were married for 75 years.  He loved his family more than anything and did everything for us.  His love was pure and honest and fierce. 

He was one of the strongest people I have known.  Physically and mentally.  The man never complained.  Never had a headache.  He raised my mom and Diane then Shane and I with the “Rub some dirt on it and you’ll be fine” mentality. 

I loved our camping trips the most.  Papa and grandma would be in the RV and mom, Shane and I would have our tent right outside.  Papa would always string up the plastic kitty lights around the awning for me then smack his head continuously on them cursing every time.  We played cards for hours.  Uno, poker, gin, kings corner, go fish.  We would go on long walks and usually fall behind because he would walk so fast. 

When I was a kid he told me a cow licked his hair off and that’s why he was bald.  I believed him until I was twelve.  When confronted again about it now once I was old enough to know a BS story when I heard one, that twinkle in his eye would sparkle and he would stick to his story.  He was famous for his one liners.  His delivery was perfection.  Usually in the middle of a conversation we didn’t think he was paying attention too he would slyly hit us with the perfect one liner.  Every damn time.  Always followed by that famous twinkle.  

There were only two times I remember my Papa getting seriously mad.  One time was when my friend Susan and I had wandered off in the desert on a walk and lost track of time.  When we turned around to go back there was my Papa, pulling up in his car.  He got out and screamed at us for wandering off in the dark.  Susan and I will never forget that.  The 2nd time was soon after my divorce and the ex's name was brought up.  Papa snapped that he hoped he never ran into him because he would be sorry.  Then he muttered something about his gun collection.  I'm not going to lie...there was a little part of me that wanted to see what he would actually do.  But in life my Papa was not an angry man.  Stubborn yes.  Onrey yes.  But his soul was gentle and he loved so many and so much.  He loved to laugh.  He loved to prank and joke.  He loved to work.  And man did he love us.

3 years ago my Papa’s health started to falter.  He started to shuffle his feet and needed help getting up.  He did not take this well at all.  When his driving privileges were taken away because he had had one too many small strokes I didn't think he would ever forgive that Doctor.  After some time he accepted it but his health kept going downhill.  He started to use a cane, then a walker, none of these did he accept at first.  He would NEVER let us put him in a wheelchair.  We eventually had to bring in 24 hour care for both of them and last year in November hospice was brought in.  We ended up with Noelle – the most amazing caregiver I have ever seen.  For the 1^st few months Noelle would put on a belt and hoist Papa into a wheelchair and wheel him around outside.  Eventually though my Papa became bed bound and his mind started to go.

This was probably the hardest part of it all.  Watching my Papa decline so slowly.  He was stubborn in his life and stubborn until then end.  When I would visit I would share stories and try to get him to remember the past and things he loved but it got harder and harder. A few months ago I leaned in to give him a kiss goodbye, a day of not much sense being made in our talks.  He cupped my face in his hands and stared at me.  “What is it Papa?” I asked.  “I love you so much my sweet girl,” he said.  My eyes filled up with tears as I tried so hard to fight them back.  I never wanted Papa to see me cry.  “You are beautiful and perfect.” He said.  I smiled and kissed him again.  When I turned away the tears fell and I high tailed it out the door.

Most of our talks after that didn’t make much sense.  Once in a while I would get him for a moment or two and we connected but then he would be gone again.  Dementia is an evil evil disease.  Almost every time I left there I would cry all the way home.

He loved to hold my hand when I visited.  This was the last photo I took of my Papa:

The Thursday before he passed my Papa took a bad turn.  We thought we were going to lose him.  But when I came by he had improved.  That Saturday night I didn’t sleep well.  I had nightmares and for the 1^st time in a long time I woke up depressed.  I didn’t want to get out of bed.  But grandma had wanted a Pumpkin Spice Latte and I needed to get up and get over there.  I was just so sad.  I decided to pull a random act of kindness at Starbucks and pay for the people behind me to lift my spirits.  The drive thru kid was in such awe he gave me a free blueberry muffin, warmed, as a thank you for being so nice.  I was excited to share this story with my grandparents.  I walked into my grandparents’ house with a latte in each hand and the muffin bag in my mouth on November 24^th, 2013.  I shouted a muffled hello.  My grandma and her caregiver were coming in from the back and I looked at Papa.  He was on his side with a washcloth on his head.  Eyes closed.  He didn’t look good.  “Hello!” I shouted again as I crossed into the kitchen.  Joel (Papa’s caregiver) was outside on the phone and did not look happy.  I set one latte down and took the muffin bag out of my mouth.  Papa then rolled over and the oddest exhale came out of his body.  I stood there frozen staring at him because it was the oddest sound.  He looked dead.  My heart dropped, but he has looked this bad before.  Grandma was set down and just as I was about to walk over Joel burst in furious and telling me they had too many blankets on him.  He had a fever he was trying to get down.  He put a cool washcloth on him and had bathed him and put a light blanket on.  He turned and walked over to Papa.  He touched him, leaned into him, but his hand on his chest then turned to me and said “He’s gone.”

I will never forget that as long as I live.  My heart dropped.  “What!” I shouted.  I slammed the latte down I was still in shock holding and grabbed my phone out of my purse.  “Do I call 911?!  What do I do?!”  Joel shook his head and started to take his blood pressure.  I started pacing back and forth in the kitchen.  Pauline (Gramma’s caregiver) came in with another machine asking Joel if it would work better.  I called my mom.  All I said when she answered was “You need to get here now.” I hung up.  Joel was shaking his head to Pauline.  “It’s error ing out.  He’s gone.”  I stood next to grandma now who had not realized yet what was going on.  “I’m so sorry Jami” Joel said.  That did it.  I leaned down to my grandma.  “He’s gone grandma.  He’s gone.”  She clasped my hand shaking and crying.  I just stood there holding her hand.  I had gone numb.  With my free hand I called my brother.  “Papa is gone.”  He said he’d be right there.  Joel explained to me that he had called hospice and they were on their way.  I stayed with grandma until Shane got there.  I then went outside to stop my mom and tell her before she came in. 

The day continued on as if it were a dream.  I watched my mom come in and say goodbye.  Joel went and picked up Noelle who wanted to be there.  Danelle arrived as well.  The hospice social worker arrived and we all stared at her not knowing what to do.  She did paperwork and tried to comfort us.  Shane called Fairhaven.  They arrived around 3pm.   I took grandma and mom into another room and the social worker and I distracted grandma while Danelle blocked any sort of view she may have when they took him away.  I looked out the window and saw the gurney covered in a maroon sheet.  When everything had settled slightly I went to the garage where all my Papa’s tools are and sat down on the floor and lost it.  The sadness wrapped around my heart like a vice and squeezed the breath out of me. I was hysterical.  I was out there a while then I heard someone come in behind me.  A hand squeezed my shoulder.  I pulled it together, stood up and turned around.  It was Noelle.  We hugged and I returned inside.  I was later told that Joel said my Papa had waited for me before he passed away.  He heard my voice then left this earth.  He waited for me.

The next day mom, grandma and myself went to Fairhaven and dealt with everything.  It was still so surreal to me as we made all of the arrangements.

The phone calls and the flowers and the cards and the texts and the Facebook posts started to flood in and made me feel so loved and supported. 

The service was lovely.  We arrived early for a viewing but I couldn’t bring myself to come up to the casket.  From what I could see it didn’t look like my Papa.  Grandma sat with him for a while then we closed it before the main service started.

Pastor Tae Shin was the back up from Covenant Presprytarian and was so nice.  Terri sang “How Great Thou Art” a song my Papa loved.  My dad got up and read the obituary that I wrote and then edited into a biography.  He shared a few stories from the fire department and almost broke down at the end.  Pastor did a sermon of sorts then opened it up to anyone.  A fireman came up and shared a hilarious story.  Then my brother got up to speak.  He didn’t make it through his speech when he mentioned that he’ll think of Papa next time he’s fishing.  When he broke, my heart broke.  I have never seen my brother break like that.  I heard many others lose it at that point as well including my father.  Watching the men in my life cry made me love them more and my heart break right alongside.  I jokingly smacked him as I walked up now trying to pull myself together for my speech which I shared below.  I almost made it to the end and barely cracked out the last line.  I screwed up Terri but she pulled it together and sang “Amazing Grace” beautifully after me.  Pastor Tae closed and that was it.  My brother and I were pall bearers as well as Danelle, Noelle and four of Shane's dear friends.

When we walked out of the church the clouds in the sky had made two hearts.  Terri pointed this out to me and smiled.  She caught a photo as well.

The gravesite service was to follow and the main Pastor Stan performed that.  I didn’t care all that much for him or his words.  Papa was in the United States Coast Guard so he had military honors.  This included a man playing Taps on a trumpet that of course set me over the edge as well as my dad and brother.  They unfolded then refolded the flag and presented it to my grandma.  It was beautiful.  We stayed until they lowered him into the ground, then we all took roses off the spray and tossed them into the ground where he now lay.  

To my dearest friends who came to Papa's service.  Thank you.  It truly meant the world to me and my family that you were there.

A reception followed at my grandma’s with amazing food and wine.  Everyone looked through albums and shared stories and laughed and cried.

I will miss my Papa more than words can ever describe.  There is a hole in my heart that will never heal.  I have issues with religion but I do believe in a god and I do believe that when our time is done here on earth that’s not the end.  There is something else out there but I don’t think we are meant to know what that is but it’s good and I believe my Papa is now at peace and happy and will always be watching over me.  I love you so much Papa and will miss you tremendously.  I promise to continue to live my life to the fullest and not let anyone bring me down.  You taught me to be strong and I will.  I love you Papa. 

Here is what I and read:

Love Letter to My Papa:

I love the way you look at gramma.

I love the way you tease her.

I love how much you love her and how much you love your family.

I love how you are fiercely loyal.

I love that I can count on you for anything.

I love that you have the biggest heart I have ever seen in a person.

I love that you were a fireman.

I love that your men respected and loved you.

I love that you are a legend.

I love that you are exceptional.

I love that no one compares to you.

I love that you love me so much.

I love that you hate it so much when I hurt.

I love that I can trust you with anything.  With my life.

I love your quick wit.

I love that twinkle in your eye.

I love that you’re so strong.

I have loved you since I was a little girl.  They always said they would hear me chasing after you calling “Papa! Papa!”  If anyone was ever looking for me your lap was the first place they would look.

I have inherited your strength.  Your stubbornness.  Your wit.  And I am thankful.

You have taught me how to love, how to laugh, how to be fair and honest and that there are people in this world whose hearts grow bigger and better every day.

You are my superman.  My hero.

You are and will always be my Papa.

Mentors and people who inspire...

I’m participating in a couple of different meditation challenges right now and one of them is based on Gratitude.  This morning’s meditation focused on Mentors.  As I meditated I found the people who I consider mentors floating through my mind but also the people who inspire me.  The difference, for me, between mentors and people who inspire is mentors are almost like teachers.  They are the ones that have taught you certain things, certain aspects of life etc.  People who inspire are just that – I look at their lives and they are an inspiration.  I wanted to touch on those who have touched my life in those two ways in this blog.

It seems obvious to say my parents are mentors but it’s true.  My mom has mostly taught me about compassion and imagination.  One of my favorite memories was she would have us lay down outside on the grass and look at the clouds and tell her what shapes we saw.  The clouds would come alive as animals, people, shapes and stories.  Shane and I would create stories together as the clouds shifted into different things.  She also always encouraged us to see the beauty in nature.  “Look how beautiful the trees are!” she’d yell excitedly as we drove through the Redwoods one time.  She’s always been so patient and kind to others and I feel it’s finally rubbed off on me after all these years.  People would say she could walk into a chaotic crowded subway and everyone would suddenly feel calm.  I have noticed people lately have wanted me around because I calm them, or keep situations light, or make them laugh.  I attribute this right back to my mother.

My dad on the other hand has taught me how to be strong.  Ambitious.  Assertive.  I remember when I played softball, after practice for 2 hours he would pick me up and take me to the batting cages for another hour or so, or hit me balls.  When I played tennis I had my practice and afterwards practice with him.  He often assisted coaching a lot of my sports.  The other teammates would groan when dad would show up because he would kick our ass.  Weakness was not accepted.  I had a problem with this for years and thought it had hardened me.   I never felt like I was good enough.  It took me growing up into the person I am now to realize he was teaching me how to live.  I attack life with gusto and strength.  It takes a lot to bring me down.  I’m strong and I’m proud of it.  I’m a survivor and I’m proud of it.  I’ve turned my life around from partying, drinking, smoking, lack of sleep, eating like shit, not caring about myself to who I am today.  A healthy woman who prides herself on wellness.  I have a steady job.  I keep my passions a part of my life and don’t let anything get in my way.  I know this is because of how my dad raised me.

My friend Mic Nottingham is another person I like to refer to as a mentor.  He saw something in me that no one else saw when I was new to the stage.  I had dabbled a bit in high school but when I came to college I was clueless.  No one would cast me or give me a second glance.  But he did.  He took many chances on me and helped me get over my self-consciousness.  He taught me how to be a better actor.  To let myself go. To allow myself to become the character I was portraying.  His enthusiasm in me spread to others and more people started to have faith in me.  We always stayed good friends.  He now lives up north and I miss him tremendously but I know we’ll see each other again.  He paid me one of the sweetest compliments I ever received.  “You give me hope in humanity.” He told me once as we sat at the beach having one of our deep discussions we used to get into.  He was on a tangent and was saying he refuses to be friends with anyone who isn’t intelligent or political.  I laughed and asked why he was friends with me and that was his response.  He has always loved my heart and he sees it in my mom as well.  This means more to me now in my life than ever.

I’m finding I also look to my current boss Carol as a mentor.  She is one of the most intelligent passionate people I have met.  She’s very political, very opinionated and loves animals more than people.  I took this job 3 years ago and she has taught me so much already.  If I have a weakness (grammar mainly) she helps me.  Sends me to seminars.  Encourages me when I’m down and rewards me when I do well.  I would trust her with anything.  I watch how she deals with others around her and she has earned herself such a level of respect around here it’s amazing.  She knows her shit and she’s proud of her staff.  She should be, she brings the best out of all of us I believe.  When the time comes when we may not work side by side anymore I know we will stay in touch.  I have grown so fond of her and learned so much. 

Now let’s move into those who have inspired me.  Let’s start with Mel.  I met Mel way back in the 1^st days of The Hunger Artists.  She is a ridiculously talented artist and pulls no punches.  She knows what she wants and she does it.  The woman is the type of person that doesn’t just repaint her kitchen, she would remodel it.  Herself.  I jokingly refer to her as the female Bob Villa.  There were times when we were running HA together that she would say – let’s build an apartment complex onstage!  I’m standing there in our teeny tiny theater space shaking my head saying “There’s no way”.  But she’s running around like a spider monkey describing her idea.  She did it.  I couldn’t believe it.  Even the reviewers who came to the show raved about the amazing set.  A few shows down the line she was telling me an idea about a giant 10 foot Godzilla foot that will come down and smash an actor.  Again, I’m shaking my head.  A few weeks later I’m standing on a ladder painting the damn thing she created with chicken wire and paper Mache.  She sold her Harley (Yes she had one) and put a down payment on a house.  A big house!  In Costa Mesa!  She bought it back with the market was good and knows just how to manage her finances.  She’s an incredible nurse at Hoag (Yes a nurse!).  She is now married with a darling young boy I’m fascinated by watching how she raises him.  Meeting her you might be taken aback by her tactless sharp way about her but she has a heart of gold.  She loves the environment, animals, people, her friends and family so much.  She’s always been an inspiration.

I’ve also been inspired by another friend of mine by the name of Rose.  When we were closer and spent more time together I would listen in awe as she would ramble off these crazy ideas she had – then do them!  She told me stories of when she went sky diving!  Rock Climbing!  She was an incredible cook and I loved when she would call me up and have me come over and she would make us dinner and we’d drink and chat the night away.  Always the best meals I ever had.  She was so active and threw her entire being into everything she did.  She was crafty and gorgeous and athletic and multi-talented.  She inspired me to be more active.  To get up in the mornings (when I was living in Costa Mesa) before work and walk the beautiful back bay and watch the sunrise.  Whenever I would mention thinking about doing something – anything – she’d say go for it!  We drifted apart for a few years but have reconnected and now she owns her own food business that she opened with her husband.  I followed her blogs and stories and watched as she dove headfirst in to Triathlons, then upped and now she’s a friggin Ironman!  She’s also planning some crazy 50 mile summit run thing.  I’m blown away by each task she takes on.  She eventually made the scary move of quitting her full time well-paying job to focus solely on Bite Me Kitchen.  And now her and her hubs seem happier than ever.  She, just like Mel, is so multi-talented!  She’s always encouraging still when I’m thinking of trying something new.  Truly and inspiration.

My friend Rebecca is also an inspiration to me.  This girl used to work with me at the very colorful Opera Pacific back in the day.  I immediately adored her positive uplifting spirit.  She is much younger than me but I always teased her that she had an old soul.  She was super artistic and funky and immensely talented in the design world.  She is also a devout Christian.  Although I don’t fall into any religion myself I always admired her dedication.  She isn’t one of those scary crazy Christians, she was normal!  She is very liberal, supports gay rights, super compassionate.  She up and moved out to Denver Colorado and has made an incredible life for herself out there.  She just bought a condo and she’s so very happy.  We talked a lot about spirituality and life especially last year after everything I went through and she helped me to come to the path that I have chosen in life spiritually.  When I saw her when she was in town it was perfection.  As if she never left.  We are miles apart yes, but our friendship means so much.  She has always been an inspiration.

I’m so very lucky to have the quality of friends and family I have in my life.  I have a cousin up in Oregon I love so very much.  My grandparents mean the world to me.  A brother who takes care of me and helps me out with things only a man can do.  (He’s taking my truck into the shop tomorrow!).  My world is full of amazing friends, especially women!  I am surrounded by such a strong group of women it’s incredible.  I could touch on each and every one of them but this blog would go on for days.  In fact…I think I see a “Why I love my women friends” blog coming soon after this….

Mentors are important in our life I believe to help us on our path.  People who inspire us guide us in the direction our hearts want us to take.  Having the support of those who love you and will be there for you and bring you peanut butter crackers when you are hungry, and send you a loving text when they know you are down, and bring you lunches when you are recovering, and scold you like a mom because they care, and pay for things when they know you can’t afford them, and post something silly or cute just because they know you like it, who hug you when you need it, who kick your ass to work out when you don't want to, and are just there.  There in your life.  You can count on them.  It’s an amazing feeling knowing you are surrounded by such great people and I am so very lucky that I have so many.