His love for Grandma and his commitment to his family, God and their community were so much a part of who he was. I hope that each of my children were able to see those things and let his great love and firm resolve be something they carry with them and allow to impact them deeply.
There is a verse that came to mind as I was looking at the dates of Grandpa's life and death. I'm not a numerologist, but it seems to me there is something that indicates intentionality - design or purpose - on God's part. "All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be." (Psalm 139:16) It was clear that Grandpa loved the Lord - with all of his heart, mind, soul and strength. And, in living and dying, it is clear to me that he was loved by God. "How precious are Your thoughts concerning me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake I am still with You." (Ps. 139:17-18) Thank you, Jill-ann, for sharing your heart. Such a precious gift!
Papa's Day
Adolph P. Meisch Sr.
11/22/26 – 11/26/11
I have written this in my head several times throughout my life. And not just the many times my father was ill. Sometimes just driving down the road I will be reminded of something my mom used to say when I was little “every day we have with your father is a blessing” and I'd be reminded of how tenuous this all is and I'd find myself crying and mourning my father who was very much alive.
I came along later in my dad's life. He was no longer in Illinois. He was no longer in the navy. And he was no longer a young man. I see the pictures of him at age 17 or 18 and I wonder if he was lighthearted, was he mischievous, or was he always the man I knew.
The man I knew embodied devotion and dedication. Devotion to the church, to his hobbies (flying and cycling), to his work and most of all, to his wife. By the time I was born, my mother was already completely silver-haired (proving I can't be blamed for a single gray hair on her head). And I remember thinking and saying “get a room” when they kissed. His romantic, passionate and devoted love for my mother (and hers for him) has been a stunning gift he gave us all. One time, at a family lunch, I told mom that their example was unrealistic. “You never fight”, I said. She said “that's not true, as a matter of fact I'm mad at your dad right now.” We looked at him, he was staring at the ceiling...either oblivious to the conversation, trying to figure out what he did wrong, or trying to figure out how he was going to make it up to her. But neither of them EVER said across word about the other, never rolled their eyes, never made a snide comment. The edified each other.
The man I knew was the strongest man on the planet. I remember as a young child, playing in the cul-de-sac in Bothell with my friends...and waiting for my dad to round the corner on his way home from work. He rode his bike to and from work. I can picture the 12 speed bike with the thing on the back that he welded to hold his lunch, his tools, his clothes. And I can picture his calves. The muscles of his legs. He once said that when he first got to the pacific northwest he was amazed at how great the ladies' legs were. Northwest women have to walk up and down hills that those mid-westerners just don't see. Well dad, you had great legs too!
The man I knew never lost his temper. He was the strong, silent type. Disappointing him was the mortal fear of each of us.
I remember many evenings when he would come home I would run and get his slippers for him. And sometimes he'd give me a nickle. But he would always give me a smile. And to unwind after dinner he would lay on the couch and read his Flying or his Cycling magazines, often listening to the Mariners' game too. He would lay on his back with one knee bent up and one knee bent to the side. This made a little chair for me. And I would sit there just to be close to him. We rarely spoke or interacted. We were just together.
My dad would take us to get ice cream. I honestly don't remember his favorite flavor. Mom's is Licorice (makes her lips and tongue green) and mine is anything chocolate. But I do remember more than once dad asking “do you want to get some ice cream” and I would say, “are we driving or flying”. Driving meant Baskin & Robbins; flying meant Friday Harbour on San Juan Island. Flying was a big part of my childhood. It was a passion of his that made him the coolest dad ever. I remember running out to the yard when I'd hear a small plane flying overhead. I'd look up and there he was, sometimes flying upside down. Sometimes yelling “Hellooooo Dooown Theerre”. He would wave goodbye by rocking the wings side to side.
Cycling was a big passion too and I remember Saturdays when he would go on long, long bike rides and Mom would drive us kids out to Marymoor Park where we would play these tremendous games of tag with all the kids we could gather, while we waited for Dad. Sometimes we'd watch him at the velodrome and I was always amazed at his athleticism...not bad for an old guy, I'd think.
When he tried to emulate my big brother Skip's cross country bike ride to Illinois. He was stopped in his tracks by a little thing called The Eruption Of Mount St. Helen's. Mom and I drove out to get him, he was hurt and disappointed. But we were so proud of him. It was just one more thing that made him special.
My first glimpse of God trying to call my dad home came when I was quite young. I walked home from school and the side door was locked, so I went through the back gate to go in the sliding glass door. Once through the gate, I saw my dad's bike. The back was smashed and his rear wheel was no longer round. I knew from the looks of it, that it was bad. No one was home, so I went next door to Bea Hill's house. She told me my dad was in an accident but it wasn't that bad. Yah, I didn't believe her, not even for a second. I WANT TO SEE MY DADDY!!
Several months later, I discovered what we soon learned was a hernia. My brother Nick had to have knee surgery and we found out that my dad had broken his neck in that bike accident. The three of us were in different hospitals around the same time. I had been at Children's Orthopedic Hospital and the surgeon found a second hernia. But I only had pain once in all that time. My dad had prayed for God to give him my pain and Nick's pain.
I was too young to visit him in ICU but I remember being snuck in. He was 52, but he looked 104. He was in a circular bed, with traction and bolts in his head. That alone was enough to age him. But he had prayed for God to give him our pain...and that pain had doubled his age. It was so scary. But I learned then that my dad was a fighter. Even though he looked like a little guy...he was the strongest man I knew.
My dad, who had been in a plane crash, a car crash, a bike crash...became an advocate for the sick and disabled in our community. He built a wheel chair ramp so that people who could barely walk or were in wheel chairs could come to our home. He worked to get the front pew at our church replaced by folding chairs so wheel chairs could attend mass from the front and not the rear of the church. He drove the church van to pick up the disabled for mass and other functions. He prayed over the sick and dying...as a eucharistic minister he brought them the Body of Christ.
In his last years I knew my dad to be a shuffler, taking tiny steps to get where he wanted to go...but determined to get there. And I've come to identify him with his daily reading of the bible and the Magnificat – his daily prayers.
In 2007 my company gave me the opportunity to move to Amsterdam. My dad was extremely sick that year and was in and out of the hospital which we all feared would be his deathbed. When I told him one day about the opportunity to live in Europe he said “you have to do it”. I had been so hesitant because I feared, just knew, he would pass while I was abroad. But with his encouragement and that of my mom, I did it. And that little man just kept on fighting and surprised us all!
When mom and dad came to visit me in 2009 in Europe I asked them if they wanted a night's rest in Amsterdam before taking the 6 hour drive to Luxembourg. They had flown from Seattle to Iceland, Iceland to Amsterdam and they both said they wanted to keep going! Simply amazing. It was tough,though, because he couldn't walk everywhere that Mom and I could as we explored the village in Luxembourg that his mother's family came from. But he sat patiently and you could tell he was happy just to be there. Back in Amsterdam they joined about 10 of my friends and I for dinner one night. As each of my friends came in, my dad would stand (which wasn't easy) and say “I hug the pretty girls”. Not as much a flirt as a charmer, I'd say. They were seated across from each other at the end of a long table. I was seated next to my mother. At one point, I looked down to the other end of the table and my friend Susan was teary-eyed. When I asked her what was wrong she said “look at your parents”. I turned and looked at mom and dad...they were holding hands across the table and making googly eyes at each other. Theirs was a love that could make the hardest of hearts shed a tear. Do you know what my dad's last words to me were? He said “you're a pretty girl”.
Saying goodbye to my Dad was both extremely difficult and very easy. There was no doubt that he was ready to go, that heaven was finally ready to receive him and that it was the best thing. But oh, how it hurt. I told him he didn't need to be strong anymore. That we would take care of Mom...that he could supervise from heaven. And that his mom and dad, his brothers and our brother Nick would be there waiting for him. He couldn't talk but hen. But I know he heard me. But saying goodbye to a man who has defied all odds, led such an amazing life all the way up to the end...and would still be amazing us if it wasn't for a faulty valve, I'm sure...Saying goodbye hurt my heart and brought peace to it at the same time. I know that he knows how I feel about him. He knows my heart. And I know his.
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