Dear Paw-Paw...

When I was a little girl, I don’t think that I ever believed that Paw-Paw really needed his wheelchair. I remember trying to trick him into “blowing his cover” through a series of investigations every time we came to visit. While everyone sat in the living room after dinner, I pretended to go into the kitchen for a snack and then sneakily crawled on my hands and knees espionage-style until I was underneath Paw-Paw’s wheelchair. I suppose I thought that if he was paralyzed, he shouldn’t be able to feel me under there (keep in mind, this was when I still fit under the wheelchair, so my investigative skills still left something to be desired). I was always so convinced that I had him, right up until the point he would reach down and grab my hair. He was so sneaky! And I always made sure that I got to sit next to him every night at dinner to test him by tapping his feet with mine, just to see if he noticed. He would always shoot me a look out of the corner of his eye, but he never mentioned anything about my covert operations.

While my scientific theories may have been faulty as a child, I always secretly wondered if Paw-Paw didn’t have everyone fooled. It didn’t make sense to me that he could do all the things he did – and still be confined to that chair. When I would tell my friends that my grandfather was in a wheelchair, I was always surprised when they seemed sad. Then I realized they hadn’t met Paw-Paw. Because once anyone met Joe Ryan, they stopped feeling sorry for him and started wondering what THEY had been doing with their lives all this time. I don’t know about you, but I never saw a tomato quite as nice as the ones in Paw-Paw’s garden, I am pretty sure that he resurrected every one of my mother’s wilting orchids, and I know for a fact that no one else knew their way around the kitchen like my grandfather. He was a whiz at fixing a bike, and probably the most dependable weatherman around. He could debate politics with you until the cows came home, and he never forgot a face. While some may have been discouraged by the thought of spending the rest of his life sitting down, Paw-Paw knew that his strength didn’t come from his legs. Even though I only knew him at the end of his life, anyone could see that he had an energy that drew people to him, and not a day passed that someone didn’t stop by to have a chat on the porch or by the fire.

I am grateful for that wheelchair. From what I understand, my mother might not have been born had fate not stepped in. Unable to have children before contracting polio, something about Paw-Paw’s treatment must have changed my grandparents, and after returning home they were blessed with two amazing children and could have the family they always wanted. My mother told me once that being a grandparent changed Paw-Paw, and I hope that is true, because being his grandchild has certainly changed me. Our time in their house defines my childhood, and when I compare my experiences with so many others, I begin to understand how the love and support of my family has given me the strength to go out and strive for great things. Though he may have been a man of few words when it came to matters of the heart, I always knew that I could count on his constant support in whatever I chose to do.

While Paw-Paw never allowed his life to be limited by his body, his life finally reached his limit. After Grandma passed away, I think that he realized that he couldn’t fight against the limitations of life any longer. However, if anyone could have, I think that Paw-Paw would have made a valiant effort. As I watched Paw-Paw get older, I don’t think I ever really believed that there would come a time when he wouldn’t be a part of my life, and now I know that that is true. He has taught me so much and been such a pillar of strength in my life that I know that his memory will continue to influence those whose lives he has touched.

So today we have to say goodbye to Paw-Paw. He was a wonderful man and a loving husband, brother, father and grandfather. I know that I am grateful for being able to be a part of his life, and I hope that he will continue to love and support us throughout ours. We will miss your presence Paw-Paw, but we will carry your guidance with us always.

Love,
Elizabeth Cairns