Hey friends. Thanks for checking in, I'm doing well, and I hope to start blogging again real soon. I have a post that was sitting in my drafts about the craziness of the holidays, (oops) so feel free to check that out.
As much as I want to talk about how things are going well, and that I got back from the NIRSA annual conference that was awesome and fun and how looking back over these past 9 months (9 months exactly tomorrow) so much has changed, I wanted to take the time to talk about something else.
About a very special someone in my life who maybe didn't receive enough credit or appreciation. And he unfortunately, has left this world and passed on, and I miss him dearly. I wish I could say these things to him, but I know it's too late. My only solace is thinking that he does know how much I care, how much my family truly loved and cherished him, and that I am ever so thankful for the time we did get to share.
Growing up, I had a grandfather who loved us grandkids very much. He would get up early and bring us donuts and would sing in the long car rides together. He taught me how to spell my first curse word and then would encourage me on to stand up at the dinner table and spell it for everyone to show how great of a speller I became. He passed on to me his sarcastic and corny jokes, and his incredibly quick wit. But he passed away when I was 13. Fast forward a few years and my Nana introduced us to a new man in her life. They weren't 'dating' and we often didn't know what to call him, except "Jack, just Jack". They were travel partners and companions. Do you really call an 80 year old man, your grandmother's boyfriend? I couldn't. I was miffed I didn't have a boyfriend yet in high school so that was never going to happen. So Jack became 'Just Jack' to me.
Jack would be with my Nana and they would travel to far off lands like Brazil and Norway and bring us back little tokens and trinkets from their travels. Jack was a 2 star Army General and always had some very surreal but amazing stories from his time spent in the army. I went to college only about an hour away from he and Nana, so it wouldn't be unusual for them to stop for lunch or to invite me over. It was at one of these luncheons with Jack and Nana (we coined them always together, since they were) that he and I got into a very lengthy and interesting (to probably no one else) conversation about Walt Whitman, Ernest Hemingway and other great dead writers. I was writing a paper on the subject and I'd be lying if I told you most of that essay were ideas and observations made by Jack. He recited Oh Captain, My Captain by heart at that restaurant in Davis, California and we became quick friends.
Jack was great at remembering my birthday and gave me a lovely stationary set when I turned 19. I sent him a thank you using the stationary, and I guess he was so pleased that it was a good gift he told my Nana that he wanted to send me a thank you card for the thank you I sent him. I used up that stationary that had my name embroidered beautifully in navy blue and gold (UCDavis colors) when applying to jobs, that I regret not keeping one piece just to serve as a reminder of him. He always knew and was genuinely interested when I talked about finding a job in recreation, and he even suggested that I look into living on the east coast. Specifically University of West Virginia, his alma mater but he's entitled to be a little biased. Upon graduating from UCDavis, he gave me one of the greatest gifts I could ever ask to receive. He invited me and only me to stay with him and my Nana in Paris, in his time share. It was one of the greatest trips of my life.
Jack spent a considerable amount of time in Paris while in the army and had fallen in love with the city and the people. Every year he would return in the summer for months and weeks at a time. So this was a pretty big deal that he was inviting me to go with them. My aunt and uncle learned of the invitation and then soon our party of 3 turned into a party of 5. I would join Jack and Nana to eat breakfast at a cafe and then go to the museums and landmarks, shuffling from cabs and listening to Jack tell his grand stories and interpret French for us, all the while being the most gentlemanly of hosts one could be. He paid for everything, always took a cab and always asked to make sure I saw all of Paris that I wanted to see. In the afternoons we would all lunch together, Jack and Nana, aunt and uncle, and me. Then as Jack and Nana went back to the apartment, I would be handed off to the other couple and we would walk about the city with no French speakers among us and no real destination, just exploring for the best foods the city could offer. I was 21 but was very much being the main concern in the planning of the days events...(Jack speaking with my aunt) - "Well, your mother and I are going to take Marissa to the Louvre, and then we will meet you for lunch, can you be up and ready by 1pm?" "Well we wanted to check out the Latin Quarter, so could you drop off Marissa near the Arc d'Triomphe?" "That's a little out of the way, what about taking Marissa to Napoleon's Tomb and tomorrow we can do the Eiffel Tower and you can pick her up there..." etc. etc.
After about 4 days of this I told them that I would be exploring alone, and that I would meet them all back at the apartment for dinner.
But the trip was wonderful and I came to cherish that time I got to spend with both him and my Nana as well as with my aunt and soon to be uncle. I got to spend each evening drinking Beefeater gin martinis with a twist of lemon, a twist of lemon (you had to say it to the waiter twice or else they would give you an olive, which he hated) and playing cards and laughing about his mishaps the first time he traveled to Paris. I still have the map and the key chain of the Eiffel tower that he got me while on that very trip. Just this past summer, my siblings and mom were able to travel with Jack and Nana to Paris, and recreate my grad trip.
Jack would come with us on multiple family trips from then on, including Hawaii, and my siblings and I got to spend much more time with him even as we all went our separate ways for school. While we never introduced him as our grandfather, he was every embodiment of the word to us. Holidays and other days of celebration all included him. We could joke and enjoy his company and he became a very integral part of the family.
Jack passed away on the morning of March 31st. I was preparing to go on a work trip that would take me to Florida during his funeral. After weighing my options and looking at flights and times and connections, it proved to be especially difficult and expensive to find a way to get all the way back to California in a very short amount of time. I almost bought the ticket though as I wanted to be there since I felt I hadn't shown him enough how we all truly loved him, how much he meant to me. And then I looked over at my Paris key chain and my Walt Whitman book and thought how Jack would chuckle in his own way and recite Oh Captain, My Captain. It might not make any sense, but it did for me. It was his way of saying he knew. And it was ok.
So I opted in not going. My brother wasn't able to attend either but the Allen family represented us well, and we can mourn and pay our respects in other ways. I made sure to have a Beefeater Gin martini (it was the last of the bottle, and the bartender said they don't typically carry it. Must have been meant to be) with a twist of lemon, a twist of lemon the night before his funeral and wished that if I could live half of the very full life that Jack had lived, than I would be pretty well off. The world lost maybe the most interesting, kindest and genuinely most caring man that day. But I am so thankful to have been apart of his life.
RIP Jack. We'll always have Paris.
To be continued.
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