Today, Nov. 11, is not only Veteran's Day, but also my grandfather's birthday. He would have been 85.
My grandfather, Urbain Tremblay, who I called Pepère or Pep, was straight from Canada and one of the most caring and compassionate people I have ever known. His smile was infectious and his dry humor could fill a room with laughter for hours on end.
He passed away in January 2008 and, honestly, I haven't been the same since. Not a day goes by that I don't think about how I would run across church on Sunday mornings with my dress lifted up, screaming, 'Pepère! Look at my nombril!' 'Nombril,' is bellybutton in French Canadian.
Pep always teased us by poking it. Instead of 'I got your nose,' it was 'I got your nombril!' It sounds weird in retrospect, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I had the worst panic attack of my life when he died. Even though my grandmother, his wife, died on Dec. 26, 2005, the magnitude of death didn't hit me until he was gone. I guess I remembered my Memère through Pep, and when he was gone, things all fell apart – quite literally.
Tensions in my family escalated and I found myself caught between two sides. I don't know how Switzerland does it. Being neutral is tough. It's been rocky since Pep passed away and every day I wish that he were here to bring us all back together with a joke or a smile.
What I wouldn't give for another weekend-long family reunion with 500-plus people there to hear Pep sing 'Alouette,' a French song about plucking a bird. In the song you name different body parts that you would pluck off, like eyes, nose, mouth, etc…
Pep, ever the fun-spirited troublemaker would sneak in dirty body parts every now and again, like 'les tetons' (breasts) and 'les boules' (balls).
Everything seems to remind me of him and that just makes the drama that came after his death all the more real and hurtful. I can't go to a Friendly's Restaurant without thinking of Pep. He went there for breakfast a few times a week and called all the waitresses his 'girlfriends.'
They all came to his wake.
I can't put ranch dressing on my salad without wanting his special homemade kind. Whenever I see a mushroom, I instinctively want to help him make the stuffing for them.
I want Pepère's famous 'hot goose' on Christmas – light on the cinnamon, heavy on the rum. I want to hug him and smell the Werther's. I miss seeing his U.S. Navy PT Boat hat sitting on the back of my living room couch during birthdays and holidays.
I wish I had more time to spend with him. I wish I could have asked him more about his service in World War II and I wish I could have known more about his childhood in Canada. I wish I could have learned more French from him.
The last time I was home, I received my door card for the bar in the American Legion because I turned 21. I wish I could have met my Pepère there for his birthday this year – not only to celebrate his 85 years of life, but also to learn about his service to our nation and to thank him for being a veteran.
When his health began to fail, I would write him a letter every week. When I came home from school, I would sit with him and help my parents feed him and wipe the hospital food from his mouth.
As I watched him fade and suffer through debilitating dialysis, I never once thanked him – not only for serving our country, but for keeping my family together and for giving me such happy memories of the most commonplace things.
I wish he were here every day because my family needs him. I guess all I can do is take his advice. After I totaled my car on my 17th birthday, Pep said to me, 'Vous êtes une belle fille. Ne pas pleurer. Il tout aura raison.'
You're a beautiful girl. Don't cry. It will all be OK.
E-mail: caitlin.tremblay@ubspectrum.com
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
