The Trip, The Week, The Family

This was taken when I was supposed to be packing for my trip. I think that I might have had too much wine. Then again, there's really no such thing as "too much wine," now is there?

I did not check my luggage for my trip to Michigan, so my bags did not go to the Philippines. So... win?

I bought my ticket on Sunday and was waiting for the metro at L'Enfant Plaza when my mom called to tell me that my grandpa passed away at 5:35 that evening. So that train ride was a blast, let me tell you. After a slow wait through security, I hopped on the plane and curled up in my window seat and just started to cry. It was bad crying - sobbing, heaving, losing my breath. Not attractive. Oh yeah. A couple sat down next to me and I accidentally elbowed the woman when putting on my seat belt. She soon asked if I was okay. When I explained why my crying was shaking the entire row, she just started talking.

It was nice - I normally shy away from the chatty types when on planes, but she obviously knew that I needed to talk. I told her about living in DC and she told me about her son - the kicker for the Washington Redskins. Crazy!

When we landed, her husband got my suitcase down for me. I thanked them both for keeping my mind off of things, and she hugged me. It was so nice. It was like she was there on purpose.

It was a rough week, with a lot of planning and picking out flowers, visitations, family, friends, and tears. But I'm okay. I kept it together long enough to do a reading at the church, but once we arrived at the cemetery, it was open season. My dad hired a Polish singer to sing a traditional funeral song, and it was heart-wrenching. But then, taps. And guns. And saluting.

And... BAWLING.

But it was nothing short of awesome. Awesome. My grandpa was extremely proud of his military service in WWII, and though he didn't speak of it that often, it was so obvious that he was a member of the Greatest Generation.

Henry Piegza was born on August 22, 1923, the first son of Polish immigrants. He grew up in Detroit, graduated from high school, and served in the South Pacific for the United States Army. He was actually scheduled for the 55th wave of the invasion of Japan, but the war ended.

He married my grandma, Hedwig "Harriet" Jablonski in 1947. My dad arrived in 1950, followed by my three uncles. They celebrated the births of five grandchildren. They toasted to their 50th anniversary in 1997. My grandma passed away in the spring of 2001 and I don't know that his heart ever fully recovered. He was in and out of the hospital for a spell, but it wasn't until this summer that he started to go downhill.

He quietly passed away on October 22, 2007 as the hospital chaplain read the 23rd Psalm. He did not suffer.

I don't think that I can fully explain how proud I am to be his granddaughter. I remember standing on the National Mall for the dedication of the WWII Memorial, surrounded by veterans. They all looked like my grandpa. They cried, I cried, and the sun shone. It was amazing. These men and women put their lives on the line for their country because they felt it was their duty. Because it was right. I am lucky that he survived.

But it wasn't his military service that I will remember - it was the love he had for his family. Every Christmas, he would offer each family member a piece of the traditional opłatek, and he would wish for us to be happy. Happy in love, happy in life... just happy.

And I know that he is now happy. And so am I.