Whenever I think about “Papa,” I picture him sitting in his blue leather chair watching the golf channel. My grandfather would always have a cup of green tea in front of him as he reclined in his chair, his silhouette framed by a large window overlooking the 16th tee.
When he saw me, he’d always say: “Look who it is, Admiral JJ.” He’d stand up, shake my hand and I’d smell the Polo cologne that he always wore. His home in Black Butte was always relaxing. I remember the doors always being open and hearing the “ping” of golfers driving balls on the course.
Papa stood six feet tall, had broad shoulders and was going bald. His signature summer outfit was a golf polo shirt and khaki shorts. He always wore a hat with the name of a place he visited or a place that he golfed.
For the past 12 years, he has had Parkinson’s disease. But it hasn’t been until recently that I’ve seen its full effect.Even though he has battled this disease, he is still the person I look up to most. It’s hard at this point because there is nothing that anybody can do. Even the medications aren’t working. He’s getting worse and the disease is taking over.
William Miller was born Jan. 11, 1937, in Lafayette, Calif. In high school, he was a part of the band and played football. He went to the University of Oregon where he met Marilou Goldsmith. She was a year younger than him but when she finished at UO, they got married, settled down and had three children.
Papa worked in the wine business, which caused the family to move around a lot. In the late 1960s, they settled in Salem. He continued to work hard to support his family as the kids grew up and moved on.
I was Papa’s second grandkid and he made me feel special. Whenever we were together, I would lay on the leather couch as he rested in his chair and we’d watch golf for hours. He didn’t always show a lot of emotion. But whenever a golfer teed off, he’d come up with a nickname or say something funny about them.
I remember once when Retief Goosen appeared on the screen. Papa said “Who ya,” and I didn’t get it. Goosen drove the ball and then Papa blurted out: “Who ya Goosen’?” He started laughing and it made me smile.
When I was 12, Papa took me to the driving range on the Big Meadows course. We went because it was the day when all of the golf companies were there with demos – clubs, balls, hats and enough golf equipment to make Tiger Woods jealous. He set me up with a Taylor Made driver and let me hit away. I’d never really played golf before but I drove the ball almost 200 yards. He was proud of me. I could never tell before whether he was proud of me but this time it showed. It meant a lot to me.
We used to talk a lot about boating, too. Papa once owned a boat similar to the one that I own now. He always asked me what was happening with my boat. He’d talk about planning a cruise even though he didn’t own a boat anymore. He looked forward to me going to the U.S. Naval Academy and always said I’d be the next Admiral of the Navy.
Every time I went to visit my grandparents, I noticed Papa getting a little worse. Moving around became more difficult. It killed me to see him in this condition. I could drink green tea. I could play golf. And I could go boating. But none of those would bring the old Papa back to me.
Today, Papa’s a mere shadow of the man he once was. Parkinson’s has torn everything away from him. He lives full time in a care home in Bend. He requires a wheelchair and two people to move him around. He will never go back again to Black Butte to see his custom-built home. His motor skills are next to nothing and his hands shake from the disease. He can barely hold a glass of water on his own.
Two months ago he was walking and on the golf course with me, making jokes. Now, he is stoic and quiet. He can rarely watch a full golf match because he sleeps constantly. He has not worn his Polo cologne in quite a while. He used to care about the way he dressed and how he looked. It doesn’t matter to him now. He doesn’t know the difference.
The people at the care home make all the decisions now. I had tucked away the idea of him passing away for years but now it is facing me head on. With no exit I am forced to watch it, helplessly. I am about to join a club that nobody wants to be in.
I see the parallels between our lives and take comfort in knowing that his ways are ingrained in me. Don’t worry, Papa. I’ll continue to work on my game and I’ll drive that ball as far as I can every time for you. In the Navy, an Admiral is someone to look up to, someone who leads by example. I’ll make it in the Navy, Papa, but you are my Admiral. ♦
