10 years ago today, on June 11, 2013, I lost my Poppy (what many of us call our Grandfather here in NL). My Poppy was like a Father to me. I’m so fortunate to have been raised by a village (in the tradition of our roots in rural NL) with multiple paternal and maternal leaders and caregivers that have shaped me into who I am today. My Poppy is the first of those I’ve had to work through being without in a physical sense.
For the last 10 years, this season has been both sad and joyous. Sad because I still miss him, so and I would give almost anything for one more early bird breakfast together or to have him meet Ellyn. She doesn’t know it yet, but she carries his infectious joy for life with her every day.
This time is also joyous. It’s a time of year when we spend time sharing more stories and memories of a person that meant a lot to me and many others. Toasting him with the finest (read cheapest) white wine because, as Poppy would say, “sure it all gets you to the same place.”
It’s also the season when I usually do the writing that feels the most true for me and that I’m the most proud of. That included My Grandfather’s Daughter, One Room, One Heart, 5 Years On and Possible Presence.
This year, I’m thinking a lot more about the gifts Poppy blessed me with and being so grateful for how present he is with me every day. I feel them even more as I’ve moved home and stepped more fully into my leadership journey of service; that always feels like I’m following his. Because I think everyone can use a little more Kevin Pittman in their life, here are a few of those.
Choose joy – I wish I had asked my Poppy more about how he stayed so hope and joy-filled. He always seemed to be. He met everyone with the biggest, most genuine smile, hug and, if he knew you well enough, a kiss. He always made you feel like you were the most important person in the world when you were with him. No matter how much he had to do or how much was on his plate, he made you feel like you were the most important person in that moment. You usually left feeling seen, heard and like you could do anything. He also loved to laugh and tease. How much do I miss the sound of his belly laughs.
Create rituals to spend time with your people – I know my Poppy was a busy person. He was a dedicated son and brother, loving husband, father of four, Poppy to eight and friend to many. He was a firefighter who spent his off days doing another job, at first delivering furniture for Sears and eventually his own small home repairs and renovations business. He was an avid community volunteer and served a term as a town councillor in CBS. We had routines, though, that brought us together, and for me, it’s created a sense that I had an immense amount of quality time with him and my whole family in my childhood. That included church and Sunday dinner every week and frequent trips to the cabins in Middle Arm and Ocean Pond. Times at the cabin are some of my most cherished childhood memories. From quiet breakfasts for just us two of fish or bologna, Nan’s homemade bread, and fried eggs to extended family gatherings full of so much fun and laughter for holidays and long weekends and for Poppy’s birthday in August. These memories are a foundational part of who I am and why I’m so glad to have weekly dinners with my partner’s family and reserve time to be out at one of our family’s cabins as much as we can. These times fill me up and force me to slow down. I hope they create that rich bank of childhood memories for my daughter.
Care for your place and people – For Poppy, that looked like growing food, visiting every wharf he could wherever he was, spending time on the water and on the land and taking care of others. My Poppy was an avid gardener. I’m starting tomato plants for the first time, and the overwhelming smell of them in my porch takes me right back to him and the taste of sweet cherry tomatoes from his greenhouse. He loved the ocean. He hated to go a day without going down to visit the nearest wharf. He loved to connect with others or to spend time by himself connecting with the water. Poppy’s boat, The Nipper, is a near legend in my family. He loved being on it, jigging for cod or rowing us into a remote beach we’d found for us to play at. I never asked my Poppy how the Cod Moratorium in 1992 felt for him. I’m not sure we’ve spent enough time as a community talking about the impacts of that, or many other traumatic aspects of our history, on our hearts and the individual and collective healing for people and place that’s still required. Poppy was always taking care of others. He did that in more visible ways, like volunteering on the board of our church, collecting donations for various charities and speaking about the importance of prostate cancer screening. My memories focus on the everyday ways he cared. Making extra plates of Sunday dinner each week to deliver to someone who might be sick or isolated from others. Poppy’s blood pudding deliveries and visits just before Christmas are another one of those legends. I’m also so grateful for the three longer periods of time that I lived with my Nanny and Poppy throughout my life and the way they made space to be a part of my and my sister’s parenting village, especially when we were young.
Poppy also gifted me with what I have a feeling were some of his learning edges. I’m still working to understand them. These are probably the biggest things I wish I’d asked him more about.
Serve from a full cup – Poppy was such a giving person. I think he may have also given too much. From the story of how he lost the family business and ended up in debt at an early age because he couldn’t bear to see someone go without to cancer, which eventually took his life and was potentially linked to all of the smoke he inhaled as a firefighter without proper equipment. If Poppy knew someone needed help, he just responded. I can see how I continually struggle with this, too, having already burned myself out three times in my not-quite-four decades on this earth. I was lucky that each of those burnouts came with a break. Since coming back from my last one post-maternity leave, I’ve been working hard to learn to serve from a full cup. While I haven’t figured out how to do that quite yet, I seem to have at least figured out how to ensure I’m at least partially refilling that cup all of the time.
Being comfortable with reciprocity and saying no – Learning that receiving from and depending on others takes relationships to a new level. By sharing burdens and opportunities together, we can have richer relationships, conversations and actions. This centres us on holding things together rather than the individual hero narrative. This also includes learning to say no. I’m working to turn down my habit of giving too much of myself and my family. Knowing that having boundaries and saying no when we need to allow others to rise or for pacing or different resources to come into play to make the work sustainable and richer. And accepting that sometimes it just doesn’t happen because it’s not the right time or the right thing and that’s ok, too.
My Poppy is still my biggest cheerleader and advisor. I try to spend time with his spirit in meditation a few times a week. Sitting together at the breakfast table in Middle Arm, loving, learning and laughing together.
Tomorrow my family and I set out to live, work and play from the island’s west coast and Great Northern Peninsula for a few weeks. I feel so fortunate that this can be part of my professional work and that my partner and daughter are so excited about this adventure, too. Exploring every wharf on this island was something my Poppy wanted to do when he slowed down and retired. Sadly, cancer took that away from him and my Nanny. I know he’ll be with us as we explore so many beautiful communities, visit amazing people on that part of the island and watch ourselves and our daughter fall more in love with this place. We’ll also try to stop at every wharf we can in honour of him.
Thank you, Poppy, for everything you still continue to give to all of us.
Love one of your little jewels,
Nicole
Being a Force for Good 