She had us all set up for the whole weekend, all I had to do was show up. We packed cameras, video recorders, sharpies (yes, I have their autographs!), and headed to Scott AFB. We were like two little kids on Christmas morning.
Now, there was an amazing little fact mixed in all of this that made it even more special. I (as well as my sister) are avid believers that those who have passed on are never that far from us. They play a lot of key roles still in our lives in all kinds of ways.
Since our fathers opted not to fill their roles, my Grandpa Morris willingly stepped into that role of father in our lives. We spent a lot of time at my grandparents, and any activity that had a father role, he filled it. I took him to a lot of daddy/daughter dances and events at church and he never once complained. He would always call me his "Little Suzi" as when I was young, I always had to have a bonnet on because of my red hair and fair skin. He said I always looked like a little Southern Suzibelle, and therefore, the nickname. He was my hero in more ways than I can count.
In 1986, Grandpa got pretty sick. Guess he had been for a while although us kids never knew it. I was 14, Lora was 3. He spent some time at Chanute AFB in the hospital then got to come home for a while. Then one day he got real bad and they ended up sending him to Scott AFB in Bellevue. I would not see him again. I would not even have the chance to say goodbye. He died on August 13, 1986. I remember taking the phone call from my great-aunt with the news. It devastated me, my hero, my father figure, my protector, was gone. I remember the funeral and how just distraught everyone was. Never saw my mom like that (and hope I never do again). I never cried. I felt I had to be strong for everyone that was falling apart. Matter of fact, that is when I quit crying altogether. At that moment it was formed - if you cry, you cannot be tough, you will not be in control. You cannot hold everyone else together unless you stay strong. Grandpa is gone, now you have to be strong on your own. I would not start to find peace with his death for over 10 years. It is still hard, and I still don't cry, and I miss him like crazy.
We shook the hand of every Navy person we saw and bragged about our hero. We told stories of how he flew blimps until the Hindenburg accident shut that program down. He never would go on a submarine because he would say, "what goes up, must come down, but what goes down, does not necessarily have to come up." We talked about his picture album he had from Pearl Harbor when he was stationed there. He actually had finished his enlistment there and returned home - two weeks before it was bombed. We were always told of when he heard the news that he stood up, went straight to the recruiter's office and re-enlisted.
We spent two full days, watching planes, shaking hands, meeting people, telling stories, and clocking some memorable sister time. I laughed as I listened to the roar of the engines and walked through the big crowds, I got it.....I finally understood that, yes, I was "too little" to go all those years before. It would seem though, Grandpa had never forgotten how much I really wanted to see the show.
In the meantime, another Thursday is here and soon to be gone. Will have to say that this post took a direction that I was not expecting, which is perfectly fine. When I write...I write. I let the thoughts go the direction that they want to. I'm pretty happy where the thoughts took this one. I know that Grandpa is still watching over me and cheering me on and reminding me that life can't get the best of me. I would like to think that he is proud of all us kids and what we have done with our lives.
