Pop Pop

My grandfather (Pop Pop to me, Pop Pop Pop to Owen, Marvin Atchison to the rest of the world) passed away today. We're thankful that the end was peaceful, and that we were able to make it down to Austin for one last visit just a few weeks ago. Pop Pop was the only one of my grandparents who lived to meet Owen (my other grandfather passed away just a few months after he was born), and I'll always treasure the memories of them together. Pop Pop may not have been able to see, but he knew that Owen looks just like his daddy, and his daddy looks just like Pop Pop. And he didn't need his vision to hear Owen say, "I love you Pop Pop."

It's hard to know what all to write in this post, but I wanted to at least share some of my thoughts and memories of a remarkable person. My memories of Pop Pop are all of a wonderfully happy person. When I was young he would always play with us grandkids, crawling around on the floor and tickling me when I was little, or teaching me how to play pool and golf when I was a little older. He was quite the flirt, and he inevitably charmed the young ladies, as Elaine or Adrienne would be happy to tell you. Hearing the story about how he swept Mom Mom off her feet I'd say he was always pretty smooth, and as the father of three adoring girls who still call him Daddy (while they all called Mom Mom, 'Mother') he had plenty of practice over the years.

Growing up I knew Pop Pop fought in the Pacific during WWII, but I never knew the stories and only had the vaguest idea that he was a war hero. I once asked why Pop Pop didn't eat rice, and heard in hushed tones that it was because of the memory of maggot infested rations they ate during the war. Eventually I heard the stories of Pop Pop receiving a Purple Heart when he was shot through the neck on his 21st birthday as the Marines landed on Tarawa, and the Silver Star for his bravery in a ferocious battle on the island of Saipan. After Mom Mom passed, he was more willing to revisit those years. One of the earliest posts on this blog has a video of Pop Pop telling the story of that battle on Saipan. Every time I listen to the story I'm left in awe of the sacrifices made by the greatest generation.

On our wall at home I have a picture of that young Marine, Pfc. Marvin E. Atchison. It's hard not to think of Pop Pop the war hero when seeing the picture; but looking at his smile, the jaunty tilt of his cap, and the light in his eyes, you can't miss the happy and joyous person who savored his happy ending in the wonderful family and life he built after the war.

Marvin Eugene Atchison

November 20, 1922 - December 10, 2008

Generations

Elaine and I both have family and roots in Iowa, so we envision many road trips to that fair state in our future. We hope to build many fond memories for Owen of trips to his grandparent's house, corn on the cob, summers swimming in the pond, and winters skating on it.

Last week we took Owen on his first road trip to Iowa, though the circumstances of this first foray into the great Midwest were less than ideal. On Saturday, November 5th, my Grandfather passed away at the age of 95.

We had thought our first trip to Iowa would be next summer for Owen's baptism. When we heard Grandpa's health was failing, we moved up out visit to just after Christmas so we could introduce Owen to his Great Grandfather. Once Grandpa was put in hospice care and Dad headed out to Iowa, we decided to drive out to Iowa that weekend and spend the week in Iowa letting Owen meet the family and hopefully giving grandpa a chance to meet him. Sadly, on Saturday morning, around 5 am, while we were packing up the car and getting ready to hit the road my phone rang. I knew before I answered, it was Dad calling to tell me that Grandpa had passed. Our trip would still involve many introductions, but our purpose was now to say farewell.

All of our travel adventures will have to wait for another post, for now I want to fast forward to Wednesday morning, November 8th. Sitting in the Hickory Grove Friends Meetinghouse, across a dusty gravel road from the cemetery where Fawcetts have been buried since the days of my Great Great Grandfather, the silence of my Grandfather's Quaker funeral was broken by the cries of my son. The spirit had moved him to remind us of the beginning of the cycle of life as we sat an mourned the end. After he had reminded us for a while, and was more interested in continuing to remind us than focusing on his bottle, Elaine took him outside to calm him in the warm November air. As they left, I rose to speak:

When I was two years old, I sat in this Meetinghouse during my Great Grandmother Malissa Fawcett's funeral, and my parents gave me M&M's to calm me. My son is a bit too young for M&M's so hopefully a little fresh air will help him calm down. I don't remember that day, and I don't remember meeting my Great Grandmother, but I know the story, and many others besides, because the family kept her memory alive. Grandpa used to tell me how Malissa would say that she must have lived in the most interesting time to be alive. As a little girl living on the frontier, she would hide under the kitchen table during Indian raids, and yet she lived to see Man walk on the moon. I always loved hearing this story as a child, because it made me feel connected to the past and to this land, because this amazing woman who had seen so much, had also known me. Owen may not have met his Great Grandfather, but Floyd had known him and delighted at his birth. I hope Owen will always feel at home here in Iowa, and years from now after growing up with stories of his Great Grandfather, I know he'll be glad that he was here.

 

Floyd Thomas Fawcett
July 25, 1911 - November 4, 2006