Papa

A love I'll never forget.

Welcome to The Pause, dear friend. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.

A week and a half ago my grandpa—Papa to his grandkids and great-grandkids— passed away.

He was a light in my life. A real source of love for me, and I’d like to take a moment today to appreciate him and his love.

Note: If you’ve recently lost someone or you’re in the middle of grief, please tread with a tender heart.

Settle in, take a deep breath, and get ready to pause in 3…2…1…

---

🕊 Papa

Mitchell Anthony Buich died on Saturday, February 18th at the ripe age of 85 years old. He was my Papa, and I am gutted by his loss.

Papa lived a good and happy life, surrounded by people who loved him, especially at the end. He had the time and the wherewithal to get to have those end-of-life conversations we all so desperately hope we’ll be able to have. He was blessed, and for the people who loved him intimately, so were we.

For years I’ve tried to reason myself around the grief that is now sitting on my doorstep—logic’ing and prepping for his passing as an attempt to protect myself from the big waves of devastation, loss, and despair that have already started creeping in.

Yes, it is true that he lived a good, long 85 years, and also.. when faced with the reality of him being gone forever, no amount of time together will ever feel like enough.

There was a tenderness to our love. I was his Lindsey Girl. His sweetie. His doll. He was my Papa and my old man. We loved to tease each other and talk shit while playing cards—rounding the cribbage board for hours until one of us would inevitably get beat hard enough that we’d throw in the towel. We talked Life while shuffling and dealing—covering everything from childhood memories, to funny things we’d seen recently, to the mistakes we’d made, the lessons we’d learned, and even most recently, death.

Papa knew his time was coming, and with that came an opportunity for us to say all the things that were previously unspoken. We sat facing each other in his hospital room, locked in the moment heavy with what felt like the weight of love, loss, joy, appreciation, uncertainty, life, and death all around us. We grabbed for each other’s hands, and through choked-up voices and teary eyes, each took our turn telling the other the things we’d known all along.

He told me he was proud of the woman I’d become. That I’d made the right decisions in my life. That Kevin was lucky to have me, and I, him. That I should be proud of the family I’d created. That the love of my family is all I can really ask for in the end. He squeezed my hand and told me that I am a good person. That he loved me. And that he would be watching over me.

I told him that I was grateful for him and the man he was. That his love had changed my life. That I was proud of who he had become. That I would cherish and carry him with me for the rest of my life. That I felt honored to be his granddaughter. That I’d miss him. That I loved him. That I would look forward to seeing him again. I kissed his forehead and we sat, cheek to cheek, in an embrace I know I will yearn for, for the rest of my life.

My Papa’s love was a love that cared for and had a genuine interest in me and the person I’ve been from my birth to his dying day. His love was a love that listened, asked questions, and was patient with me through all of my (sometimes chaotic) phases of life. His love was a love that seemingly sat, waiting for me to tap into any time I picked up the phone to call. His love was a love that accompanied me and helped me make sense of things when I felt confused or hurt by the circumstances of the world. His love was a love that believed my goodness was innate—always—and for that, I will always be grateful.

---

⏸ Pause & Reconnect

Think of someone who has loved you, all of you.

• Who are they?

• How has their love impacted you?

---

Thank you for being with me, crying with me, and celebrating with me. I can’t think of a more perfect way to end than this.

❤️