Goodbye Poppy

Jonathan sat on the remains of a fallen pine tree on a small island directly across from his Grandpa’s place. It was so quiet. Nothing was moving. Jonathan took a deep breath and looked over the frozen lake. Grandpa John… affectionately known as “Poppy” should be somewhere over there, but no sign of him yet.

Poppy was so proud of his home, and he should be. He was a young man of 19 when he bought this piece of land on Lake Akerman, which many years later earned the nickname of “Lake Belly Ache” after one holiday cookout where questionable meat resulted in a lot of castor oil being dispensed by the town doctor. Jonathan smiled at the thought of his Poppy chuckling through the telling of that particular story. Jonathan was named after his Poppy and justifiably idolized him. He followed him around, walking just like him with the same quirks and mannerisms that could be had.

The air was unusually light and clean while he sat thinking and reminiscing. The winter air didn’t seem all that cold at this moment. Jonathan easily fell back into his thoughts. Ah… the memories he has with Poppy. Jonathan’s Grandpa was a great story teller and used that talent and his own determination to create the town’s only newspaper. The Three Lakes Weekly covered the day-to-day life of the folks living around Lake Akerman, Big Tree Lake, and Red Lake over near the railroad. Jonathan’s family lived only a mile away through the small woods and over many hills. It was all very beautiful, especially in the spring when the colors of new life sprouted up everywhere. Poppy told the story many times of how he first came upon this parcel of land where the ‘colors of promise spoke magic to him’ and he just knew this was where he belonged.

Poppy’s wife, Abigail, was just past her 17^th birthday when he made his proposal to her on the hill that faded down to the lake. He didn’t just propose marriage, he had their whole life planned. They would build a modest home, start his newspaper and, of course, he wanted children. His excitement of what was to be was exactly what the shy red-headed Abigail needed and she couldn’t help but to be swept into his dreams.

Soon after they married, Abigail and John were side-by-side building their home on the very spot where John had dropped to his knee only a month earlier. He worked diligently creating and building his newspaper in the small shed they put up a little way out the back door of the new cabin. Almost exactly 11 months from the day of the proposal on the hill, their first twins were born. The arrival of the boys, Jackson and Lucas, was the headline on their first printing of the Three Lakes Weekly. Poppy proudly delivered a copy of that paper to everyone he ran across as he went from town to town.

Poppy would tell young Jonathan of the arrival of three more children over the years and the tragic loss of two of them at birth. They were both buried on the other side of the garden just outside the edge of the woods that led to Jonathan’s house where he, his parents Lucas and Mayme, and his four sisters lived. Even after all these years, Poppy struggled with the tale of his babies that were just too weak to stay alive. Abigail would reach over to touch his arm or shoulder, just to let him know that she shared his deep sorrow. Every time the story of the girls was told, Abigail would eventually go through the garden, pick some flowers and sit by the cross marking where Jenny and Catherine were buried.

Jonathan looked around the small island for his puppy. Cocoa was nowhere to be seen. That was ok because Jonathan was totally caught up in his thoughts. Cocoa wouldn’t go far… he couldn’t go far. They were on an island.

Isabella, one of Jonathan’s sisters, usually walked home from school with him. “What do you do over at Poppy’s every day?” she would ask.

“He’s telling me fabulous stories and teaching me to work the newspaper business.” He replied. “I am mainly just listening to Poppy’s stories, though.”

“Sounds boring.” Exclaimed Isabella.

“Well, then… you are missing out.” Commented Jonathan with a smile of knowing on his face.

Jonathan was Poppy’s first-born grandchild and seemed to have a special bond with the boy. He looked forward to seeing him trotting down the trail to his homestead each and every day.

Jonathan sat on that fallen tree and thought about his special 13^th birthday just a few months earlier. Poppy and Gramma Abbey came through the woods to their house with a cake and a sturdy box which they placed on the ground. His sisters were all giggling that silly girl thing that made Jonathan so annoyed. He just wanted to go to the shop to learn about setting type for the newspaper and listen to that day’s tales, but then he heard a slight whimper coming from the sturdy box.

“Oh… wow…” he thought and quickly tore the lid off to see a tri-colored long-haired puppy wiggling his mighty tail and trying as hard as a puppy can to get out of a box too tall for him to maneuver.

Jonathan sat on that fallen tree and thought about how that was his best birthday ever and how much love he had for his Poppy. He had managed to fulfill a wish that even Jonathan didn’t know he had. As the family sat laughing and enjoying the cool late fall air, they soon discovered the new puppy had been standing in and enjoying Gramma’s freshly baked birthday cake. Jonathan decided, with everyone’s approval, that the puppy should be named “Cocoa”.

Something moving in the distance brought Jonathan’s thoughts back. He saw Poppy coming out of his house and walking to his shed. Even from a distance, Jonathan could see his grandpa wasn’t walking normal. Instead of looking around at the promised magic colors of spring, he was slow… he was overburdened with a weight that couldn’t be seen.

Without even knowing how… and with time seemingly to stand still, Jonathan was all at once in the printing shed near his grandpa. “Poppy?”… he asked quietly, but there was no response. Poppy sat diligently working on setting the type for that week’s paper. Jonathan had watched this happen so many times and yet this was different. The air was still and heavy in the little shed. Poppy never looked away from his work.

“You’re scaring me, Poppy…” was all that Jonathan could squeak out. Just then Grandpa started running the first sheet through the letterpress that Jonathan had seen done countless times to produce the newspaper.

The first sheet fell to the floor while the press got snagged and tried to keep running. Poppy never tried to stop it… he was crying. Jonathan couldn’t believe his proud, strong Poppy was crying. He couldn’t be crying over this machine, could he?

Jonathan walked over to pick up the fallen sheet, but he couldn’t grasp it. As he tried to bend over, he caught a glimpse of the headline… all of a sudden, a rush of swirling colors surrounded him with a heavy truth. The pageantry flashed in and around him tearing away with memories… Cocoa on the softly frozen lake… Poppy screaming… a crash… drastic fighting… so heavy… so helpless… cold… dark and silent.

Poppy was crying with all he had as the printer kept trying to spit out paper after paper. “Local Boy Drowns in Lake Akerman”… was the last thing that Jonathan saw as he slipped away to a world that he knew could no longer include his precious Poppy.