“That was really close,” I said as I popped up in bed to the sound of an ambulance. Sadly, Paul informed me that it was at Papa Gossman’s house.
The girls and I congregated in the bathroom (because never do I actually get a trip alone), and I explained to them that we needed to pray for Papa Gossman. They folded their little hands, brought them to their foreheads, and closed their eyes as we prayed.
But what my gut was telling me was confirmed as two sheriffs showed up, and the EMS wheeled out an empty stretcher. Papa Gossman was gone.
He wasn’t always “Papa Gossman.” In fact, we were kid free when we moved in and he came over to introduce himself, Russ, and his wife, Nola.
Nola was so incredibly sweet but she had some trouble remembering things. Russ would gently remind her while trying to quietly explain she had dementia. He never seemed disturbed by it or overwhelmed — he just loved her for her.
When Maylie arrived, Russ and Nola brought over her very first piggy bank. It was white with flowers on it. As Maylie grew, she loved that piggy bank. She consistently found ways to fill it with Daddy’s change and, after a couple of years, the bottom just wouldn’t hold anymore. I got her another piggy bank, and she never really attached to that one. She loved the one from the Gossmans.
Although winters were usually closed up, we always found time to visit with them in the warmer months. Whether they came over to visit, bringing a crisp $1 bill for the girls, or we stopped by to sit in the sunroom and admire their figurines.
Nola passed away in March 2016. My heart ached for Russ who lost his wife and best friend of 67 years. I knew he missed her dearly, but he always showed us a smile when we were together. And we made sure to visit him more, which is how he got promoted to Papa Gossman.
He had lots of family and caregivers visit and always made sure to have popsicles on hand for our visits. My wild babies would step into his house of breakable items and he was as calm as could be.
The girls especially loved his antique carousel that played music and often times stopped on its way around, silently encouraging Maylie to just give it a little nudge to continue on. I would chime in with a “don’t touch it” and he would just smile as she helped it along. He loved seeing the joy in my babies’ eyes.
And this man, he never missed a birthday! Every time my girls reached another milestone, they had a sweet card with a crisp $1 bill in it waiting for them in the mailbox.
He passed just days before Reagan turned 3. And my heart sunk, for many reasons. Mainly out of regret because the weather had been so awful that we didn’t get to visit with him recently. But also, the thought that the man who never missed a birthday would miss this one.
You see it wasn’t actually about the card or the $1. It was about the thoughtfulness and love, and that he just always cared. The girls may never remember that — but I will. There’s something way more meaningful in an actual, tangible card than a “hbd” on social media.
The night that Papa Gossman passed, we took food over to the family. When we arrived, we were asked which girl was Reagan. And there it was — a 3-year-old birthday card already filled out and signed. He had it ready for her, complete with stickers and, of course, a crisp $1 bill. Chills ran throughout my body as tears fell from my eyes. Even in death, this man thought of my baby girl.
We hadn’t met a lot of his family as we usually visited when they weren’t there (to keep him from being lonely). But they all knew about my girls. At the funeral home, his granddaughters came right over and took the girls to get cookies. Then, they showed my girls the picture of them and Papa Gossman that made the memory board. They held and played with my babies and it was easy to see that the love that Papa Gossman showed us was a love that had been passed down generations.
And sitting on the coffee table at the funeral home were two bright pieces of construction paper — one with colorful scribbles and one with barely legible little letters that read, “Get Well Soon, Love Maylie.” He had kept their cards to him from almost a year ago when he had a fall.
Such small acts — birthday cards, handmade signs, cookies just because, time spent together — but such an impact. From a man so close to heaven to two baby girls so close to birth — over 80 years apart and still an unbelievable, beautiful bond. I will never forget this sweet man who loved on my babies and helped teach them at such a young age the joy of true friendship.
RIH Papa Gossman. You will truly be missed.
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