Sunflowers and Pops Legacy of Love
A year ago today, my grandfather passed away. His death came suddenly, and I was in no way prepared. A year ago today, the greatest man in my life left this plane. I was able to fly home and be by his side for several hours. In those precious hours, I held him close and told him stories.
You see, my whole life, Pop would tell me stories. When we were driving in the car, when we were hiking in the woods, before I fell asleep. His beautiful imagination inspired me to become a writer. It imbued in me this impulse and passion for telling stories. We shared countless road trips and adventures together. He took me everywhere and I learned so much. I am forever altered by the time I was able to spend with him. Our travels took me all across this diverse country, and every moment shared was a lesson learned. In his final moments, I was narrating our drive across the farmlands of Kansas. We took this road trip every summer, and there was a particular stretch of highway where on either side, all you could see for miles on end were sunflowers. A sea of sunflowers all gazing up towards the sun. A sun-drenched landscape with nothing but blue skies, vibrant yellows, and Pop and me driving in that old red truck immersed in our latest adventure. He took his last breath as I said, “Pop, we’re here, we’re in the sea of sunflowers.”
It took some time for the fog of grief to clear and for me to get back to a somewhat ‘normal’ routine without him. But once I did, I began to see signs of him everywhere. Sunflowers started appearing as signs of his presence. I still see them regularly, in unexpected places–Pop letting me know that he hasn’t really left my side. A while before he died, Pop and I were out to lunch. Mid-bite, he looked up at me and said in all seriousness, “Ashton, you’re going to be a college professor.” I was in my final semester of grad school and had very different plans for my degree. No, I said, brushing it off, I haven’t honestly thought about it. But he was adamant with that strong sense of confidence he always had. “You will be a professor sooner than you think.” Some time passed, and I graduated, went on to become a yoga teacher and started looking for magazine jobs. Then Pop died and sort of put everything on hold. For months it was all I could do to just get by, working the jobs I already had. And then one day, I got a call. My stepdad met a woman who ran the English dept. at a University who was looking for professors. I applied–why not?! The application process is long and drawn out, so a few months passed before I finally got word–I GOT THE JOB! And wouldn’t you know it? The first day of training is today…May 6…exactly 1 year since Pop’s passing.
Coincidence? I think not. Pop is with me always. I feel his presence when I say something funny and make people laugh. I feel his presence when I’m traveling or out exploring. I feel his presence when I do something good for someone else. And I especially feel his presence every time I see a sunflower. His legacy lives on in me and his presence that I have known my entire life has never left; it has simply changed form. In life, when we have these incredibly special bonds with someone, that bond cannot be broken even by death; it merely changes its appearance. I know this to be true for Pop and I feel his presence in my life in some way every single day.
