letter
I know the magazine is about
golf, but sometimes, you have
to break the mold. Today, I’m
appreciating the men in my
life. I’ve got four generations of
them at the time of this writing,
and it’s likely the next issue, I
will only have three.
My wonderful grandfather
who lives in England suffered his
second stroke in February, and
we are all saying our goodbyes.
Unfortunately, some of us are
having to say them from 5,000
miles away.
My sweet dad had a minor
surgery that turned into a major
illness last month as well, causing
us to all fear losing him to sepsis.
While he was in the hospital, he
got the call about his father, and
reality set it. I could have lost
them both.
While my grandfather is 92, it
certainly doesn’t sooth the pain.
We took this guy to Disney with
our pre-teens in 2007 just prior
to his first stroke, and he rode
the rides Jake and I refused.
My grandfather raised six
children, five that shared no
biological link with him, and he
swept chimneys to support his
family.
PawPaw Henry Reetz
and his great-grandson
Will Reetz share stories
on the Narro back
porch in May 2017.
My father was born and
raised in England, having come
to America to visit the big cities
and met the love of his life at the
Mardi Gras. Forty-two years, two
kids and seven grandchildren
later, it’s pretty difficult to watch
the distance plaguing my dad
as the end draws near for his
own father, the patriarch of our
family.
I have to say that our family
has been wonderful. They’re
calling constantly, not only with
reports but also to check on my
dad’s health. We’re all in a group
text on “What’s App,” and if
you haven’t used that while out
of the country or speaking to
others overseas, you’ve paid too
much.
They’re sending us messages
to say PawPaw is comfortable,
giving him kisses and telling him
stories for us. They’re holding
his hand and crying their own
tears as well as ensuring ours
are part of the process.
I miss him already. And while
he’s still here, I know I will
probably never hear his accented
voice squeal “Amba” again.
I have no regrets. I called him,
talked to him, and he visited
America twice last year. I visited
him several times when I was in
England last year, staying with
him for a week and tolerating
him asking me for a cuppa tea
before I even put my luggage
down. And he wasn’t making it
for me.
Of course, I wish I could see
him just one more time.
My brother TJ, the third
in the Reetz line, taught his
children to refer to PawPaw as
Opa, honoring the German
heritage.
While our son Shayne will
always remember his great-
grandfather as the man who
went down the big waterslide at
Blizzard Beach in Disney World,
it is certain TJ’s 21-month-old
son Will won’t remember him.
I lost my great-grandfather
at a really young age, and my
mother always regretted that I
wasn’t old enough to remember
how much he loved me. I get it.
I really get that now.
Find the oldest member of
your family and give your loved
one a call.
I wish I had one more call.
Amber
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