Papa-1, Cancer-0

Long time no blog! Things have been busy busy busy in this quaint town. Between the end of the school year, friends, and family emergencies, I have not had much time to really sit down and write all of my thoughts out. 

Unfortunately, amongst the list of reasons why I have not had the time to write to you, was family emergencies. I have experienced things this week that although not desirable, have changed the way I see things in life. For the better. 

The world lost a gem of a person 8:15, Wednesday morning. James Scott Copeland. Also known as one of my two Papa's, my mom's dad, my grandma's husband, and Everly's great grandfather.  For those of you who had never met my Papa, you missed out on one of the most peaceful humans this world has ever known. Yes, I have learned a lot and will continue to learn a multitude of information from my educators. But no one else could have taught me the things that he did. And by the end of this blogpost, my goal is to have given you a glimpse into the life of a man that left behind a legacy of commitment and pure love.

Papa was diagnosed with Glioblastoma on Thanksgiving day of 2010. This is the most common and most aggressive malignant primary brain tumor found in humans. Kind of ironic timing isn't it? It is hard to be thankful when a close family member is labeled with a disease that has the capability to be fatal. It is even harder to comfort your sorrowful grandma when she learns that the amount of time left with her soulmate is decreasing by the minute. But he never saw it like that. I was sitting in a chair with Granny when the doctor came to deliver the not-so-great news (I believe the doctor had the hardest job in the world).  Despite the sudden expression of devastation coming from us all, Papa simply chuckled. You heard me. He laughed. And he responded to Granny by saying "It's okay girl, I'll be fine." If that was not a perfect representation of the type of life he led, then I don't know what is. He was not scared. He did not fret. It was evident that he was content with the way his life had played out and he had accepted the fact that essentially, he had no control over the direction that things took from there. If it happened, it happened. If it didn't, it didn't. 

My mom bought Papa a book a while back called "A Father's Legacy". It was a blank collection of pages that hosted questions that would spark the recollection of memories and life lessons. He was to fill them out month by month. And he did just that down to the very last page. 

His handwriting will always be my favorite.

I got the privilege Wednesday of reading through his favorite memories and events in his life. It was almost as if I could hear him saying the words I was reading as I read them. Every prompt was completed almost to the very last line on the page. Except one page. The question was to the effect of "Is there anything that you were afraid of as child growing up and is there anything that you are afraid of now?" And although I despise one-word answers, this one was perfect. He simply wrote, "No!" He was not afraid of anything. He did not allow fear to occupy his thoughts. I feel as though most people might respond with the general answers of spiders, the dark, or maybe snakes. I would have written all of those things plus a few. But not my Papa. 

It is kind of difficult to reminisce on every memory I have of him at the moment. My thoughts concerning him recently have been mournful considering the fact that I have to accept that I can no longer ask him for one of those little, white, spearmint lifesavers after church every Sunday. Or that we can no longer sing one of my favorite songs from my childhood that he taught me, Skidamarink. But I have to come to the realization that we must smile because of the fact that we were so privileged to have had him in our lives rather than cry because he is not with us anymore. And although most people will say that he lost his battle with cancer, I strongly disagree with you on that one. My Papa won. He did not allow such a negative thing to occupy the remainder of his life. Nor did he let it determine the way he would spend the remainder of his days. 

The blessings I count tonight all pertain to you Papa. Your ever-present smile. Your contagious laugh. Your true love for Granny and our family. Your conisistent walk with God. Your comforting peace. And it is because of the peace that you so gracefully displayed in your final days with us that I am able to sleep tonight. I love you. 

Skidamarink a dink a dink. 
Skidamarink a doo. 
I love you. 

Skidamarink a dink a dink.
Skidamarink a doo.
I love you.

I love you in the morning. 
And in the afternoon. 
I love you in the evening. 
And underneath the moon. 

Skidamarink a dink a dink.
Skidamarink a doo.
I love you.