It wasn’t the way I thought I would end my kindergarten career…. at home with substitute teachers (mom & dad) and only seeing my friends twice a week (virtually, on Google Meets), but we made it work. And hey, instead of missing out on valuable school lessons, I like to acknowledge the important life skills I gained by being kept home as a result of the pandemic: becoming more independent, overcoming adversity, adjusting to change, practicing patience, taking turns (especially when it came to sharing our limited internet data as we all worked/learned from home), and making Cheeto sandwich lunches for me and sis.

Some would say we survived, but it’s obvious that we actually thrived! …Especially since Cheeto sandwiches are a lost art, not even taught in the classroom these days.

Send me into the world; I’m ready!

First, the pandemic struck, then Papa passed away, and now we’re learning about the state-sanctioned murder of a Black man named George Floyd, in Minneapolis, just 2.5 hours away from our house. I’m not sure Genesee or I can understand the gravity of this moment, but it feels like an added weight amidst the already-heavy air of the year 2020.

Mom says George couldn’t breathe. She told us his life mattered.

And although this isn’t the first Black man who has died at the hands of police, even with video documentation of such brutality, this moment could become the movement that pushes Black Lives Matter to the consciousness of those who haven’t been paying attention.

Because as cities across the country start to burn down in opposition to the continued legacy of anti-Black violence, we are reminded of Dr. King’s warning: “A riot is the language of the unheard.” And when a global pandemic traps the American people in their homes without the numbing agent of major league sports or the guilty pleasure of mindless entertainment, the news cycle plays on loop a troubled history repeated.

And a country is forced to listen.

Because this was my first birthday without Papa, I didn’t realize how much I would miss those Wal-mart gift cards he would send me every year.

But my sixth birthday was still a happy one because my village made sure to shower me with gifts, and love, and cupcakes.

In fact, turning six was quite the ride…

…literally! And being surrounded by family, eating a Pizza Corral supper, and playing with toys didn’t just bring me joy; I also felt a sense of normalcy. It was almost everything I needed…

…Still, I’d trade it all for one of Papa’s gift cards if it meant he could be here with me to celebrate.

Remember that cute message about how the societal response to the COVID-19 pandemic was an incredible act of global solidarity? …Where we all followed the CDC guidelines and did everything we could to take care of each other, especially the most vulnerable loved ones among us?

Well, that didn’t last long.

Masks have now been added to the long list of non-political political issues that divide our non-United States, so, this should be interesting…

Somehow, even amidst a year that had quickly become abnormal, lonely, and darker, and despite the fact that we were sleeping in a camper on the edge of Papa’s Mukwonago driveway, the Easter Bunny still arrived. Thank goodness!! I think we all needed some bubbles and sidewalk chalk in our lives right at that moment.

Coloring Easter eggs with my aunties brightened the mood as well! But to top it all off, I decided to lose a tooth to also test the Tooth Fairy’s locating skills. Because it probably wouldn’t hurt to discover a nice monetary tip next to my Easter basket, am I right? Who says money can’t buy happiness?

In the aftermath of losing Papa, I had to take on new responsibilities, like…

1. Loving on Papa’s pups and teaching Genesee how to cultivate her inner fur momma

2. Getting my (golf cart) driver’s license so I can help make trips to the dumpster

3) Learning how to research real estate on Zillow (thanks, Aunt Nay Nay!)

4) Getting cars ready to sell by being a cute photo bomber in the advertising fliers (Mustang for sale; Little dude not included)

5) And, of course, watching for signs of visits from Papa and Nana Florence, like when these two geese visited Papa’s front yard!

Missing Papa is a big job, but I think he’d be proud of my work ethic.

Getting schooled at home is quite different than what we’re used to, but we’re doing the best we can with the preparation we have had…. which is nothing.

Nothing prepared us to get tossed into a virtual world of learning, with parents teaching a curriculum they don’t know, during the hours they do not have since they also need to continue working full-time.

But somewhere in between Phy Ed class on the lawn, mom’s back-to-back meetings, virtual scavenger hunts over Google Meets, unclear science lessons, and keeping Genesee alive, I overhead mom say that home schooling during a pandemic was quite the “ship show.” I don’t know what boats have to do with any of this, but I’m excited to find out!

Gene David Florence | December 15, 1945 — March 21, 2020

Gene David Florence (Pee-Wee/Armpit) was born to eternal life and reunited with his long lost 1969 Shelby GT 500 KR and his beloved wife, Margarita Navidad Florence. He made it home, but late for supper, on Saturday, March 21, 2020, after a sudden diagnosis of terminal cancer at the age of 74.

Gene was lovingly survived by his daughters Helen Renee (Jonathan) Fuller, Chelsee Rebecca (Ernest Graham) Florence and Amanda Regina (Joel) Goodenough, and his dear brother Norman (Gerry) Florence. He was the adored Papa of Brooklyn, Jaeger and Genesee, and the great-grandfather of Isalina. Gene will be greatly missed by his faithful furry companions Sugar, Bella and Lulu. This ripple of grief will also be felt across countless cherished friends and relatives.

He will reconnect in the afterlife with his parents, Raymond and Helen Florence; his sister Patricia Florence; and his brothers Raymond (Marjorie) Florence Jr., Wendell Florence, LeRoy (Virginia Phillips) Mitchell and Richard “Dickey” Mitchell.

Gene’s many impressive lifetime achievements were a result of his unprecedented work ethic. He was a dedicated family man, a tireless provider, an always-helpful companion and a talented mechanic. There was nothing Gene couldn’t fix with a rubber band, bungee cord or zip tie. He was a man of great character who was unapologetically honest and didn’t take people’s sh*t unless they paid him to (through his successful septic pumping business).

The world was not ready for the force of Gene Florence, but he remained resilient beyond measure and paved a better future for all. A Marine of multiple wars, Gene served this country in Vietnam, fought for the right to marry interracially, picketed for Union rights alongside Teamster brothers, stood up to Mukwonago’s racial discrimination, and fearlessly faced his final battle against cancer.

A celebration of Gene’s life will take place at Waukesha’s Church and Chapel Funeral Home on a summer or fall date yet to be determined. Until then, you can find Gene in the aroma of Papa Murphy’s pizza, hear him in the lyrics of Gregory Abbott’s “Shake You Down,” or look for him in the clouds above any used car lot.

Church and Chapel Funeral Home is serving the family. Online obituary, condolences, and future memorial service information can be found at www.churchandchapel.com.

With essentially no food or water intake for weeks, Papa stopped talking in his final days on earth. But somehow, he mustered up the energy to have one last phone conversation with Genesee and I before he left.

And then he was gone.

On March 21st at 9:45 p.m., Papa passed away peacefully, surrounded by the love of my mom and my aunts. They held his hand and sang his favorite song as he went to start his spirit journey.

We are heartbroken, but grateful that he didn’t suffer for long. This whole situation happened very quickly, in fact. …Imagine being “well” enough to drive yourself 40 minutes to the emergency room in a stick-shift vehicle, spend 2 weeks in the hospital before learning a devastating diagnosis, returning home on hospice, and then only surviving 2 additional weeks. That’s what we watched happen to our Papa over the last month.

Sometimes life isn’t fair. Sometimes life is too short. Sometimes love is painful.

But as they say, “grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we love. Where there is deep grief, there was great love.”

And so, for now, we grieve….

With spring officially beginning, I pause to reflect on my winter…

As Edith Sitwell says, “Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand, and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”

So long, winter.