Weddingbee Blog

I think it must be just because it’s the holidays, and probably also because we’re getting so close to the wedding, but I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandfather in the last few days. I wrote this shortly before I became a bee:

My grandfather passed away last week. He was my Poppy — a big guy with a roar of a laugh and a beautiful head of white hair. He was a plane navigator (or “radio man”) with the 38th Bomb Group in World War II, flying in the Pacific.

He was born and raised in New Haven, Irish through and through, with the temper to prove it. He wrote down poems and quotations that he liked, and he frequently composed his own.

Poppy was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 1992, but you would never have known it. He traveled extensively, and he was very popular with the ladies. (My grandmother passed away in 1986.) Almost two years ago, his kidneys stopped functioning as they should, and he was hospitalized for several weeks. The strain on his body from the cancer and everything else was more than enough to kill him, but it didn’t. He was placed on home hospice care, and he had a nurse named Mike visit him several times a week. They became very good friends in their two years together.

Last month, Poppy’s oncologist told him that he was taking him off chemotherapy because there was nothing more that he could do for him. After that, Poppy started deteriorating rapidly. He was such a fighter, but hearing that this was it seemed to be too much for him. My parents and my aunt organized round the clock nurse care, and he always had a family member with him as well. Thursday morning, my mom called and said, “Do what you can to wrap up work. You need to come to Connecticut this weekend.” So I did. I had no idea how long I would be gone, and I am so thankful that my boss let me leave with so little information.

Poppy left the world five minutes before midnight on Wednesday, August 15th. It was 55 minutes after our favorite nurse arrived to help him through the night. It was 24 hours after my dad, an incredibly unemotional man, teared up and told his father, “It’s okay to go. I’ll take care of everyone and everything.” It was exactly 20 years and 10 months after his wife passed away.

I got to spend my grandfather’s last days with my entire family — people who I rarely see, and I wouldn’t have seen until my wedding, if even then. It was emotional and draining, lovely and distressing. I participated in Last Rites, I performed a reading at his funeral, and I flinched when the guns went off at the military burial.

Mr. Magnolia was by my side, and I could not be more thankful for that. I am strong, but I need support, and he was there to provide it.

Small things are hitting me today….I had to delete Poppy from my cell phone. I have to remove his name from our wedding guest list. I have to tell the florist that we need one less boutonniere. He won’t be at our rehearsal dinner, which was chosen in part for its wheelchair access. He won’t see his granddaughter get married. These are just the small ways that his death is affecting me right now, and I know it’s because it’s still raw. I feel selfish thinking about these small things, wedding-related things, but I know he’d be okay with it.

He’d grab me by my double chin (proudly inherited from him), and say, “Ah, Jennifer. Go on with it. You’re going to have a beautiful wedding.” And we will.

Dad Magnolia, Aunt Magnolia, Poppy, and Miss Magnolia.

Mourning a loved one in the middle of planning a wedding is a strange thing. At his visitation, several people came up to hug me and offer condolences, which were immediately followed by, “But we can’t wait to celebrate with you in January.” It was somewhat calming, because it gave us all something to look forward to and another reason to see one another very soon.

While I was in Connecticut for those ten days, I actually grew much closer to Poppy’s brother, my Uncle Billy. He and his family absolutely would have been invited to the wedding, regardless. However, I’m not sure if they would have made the trip if not for the time that we all spent together in August. A trip from New Haven to Atlanta (in the middle of January, no less) is no easy feat for an 80-year old man. But they are coming, and I can’t wait to see them.

And although initially I did tell my florist that we would need one less boutonniere, my mom had a wonderful idea that I think will be a lovely way to honor Poppy. We’ve re-ordered the boutonniere, and it will be worn by Uncle Billy. I think Poppy would have liked that.