Arthur George Kaub March 30, 1932 - April 2, 2008
Isn't that great? He thought it was pretty hilarious.
Here's what I know (and remember) about Poppy:
Art was born March 30, 1932 in Chicago, IL.
His parents were Hank and Pearl Kaub, Americans of German descent. Poppy was an only child and had an early affinity for music. He learned to play the accordion and organ and was often found playing at his father's bar. 
He joined the Marines and played music in the band on a ship during the Korean War. He met his first wife (who's name escapes me...it was something cute, like Bitsy....) in the service (she was a secretary) and the married soon after. He had two children, Arthur George Kaub Jr. (called George) and Lani. When the children were still very small, Poppy and his first wife divorced. 
Around that same time, he met my grandmother, Helane. Helane had a daughter, Pandora (my mother) from her first marriage and they both shared a love of music and performing.
My mom (then 3 years old) commented that he looked "like a turtle" and turtles became a themed gift for Poppy the rest of his life. Helane and Poppy married and toured as a musical duo, often leaving my mother with relatives and friends. 6 years after their marriage, their daughter Tami was born.
When my mom was 12, they moved the family to Australia, where my grandmother remains to this day (or so I've been told) with Tami. During their time in Australia, Poppy and Helane divorced and Poppy returned to the US. At some point he lived in Honolulu with his dad, Hank. Sometime in the early 70's, my mom and Poppy found each other and opened a series of businesses. I was born in 1986 and suspecting her fate as a single mother (my dad left a year later) my mom asked Poppy co-parent me. He was a great father figure to me until (and beyond) my mother's marriage to my wonderful stepdad, Kent. The things I remember most about Poppy: he loved to hold me and dance to old Ray Charles and Patsy Cline songs. He loved all sorts of gross (to me) foods, including chicken liver and onions, liverwurst, and (during the holidays) Hot Buttered Rum. Poppy also made the best sandwiches in the world. I mean, these things were incredible. Spinach, blue cheese dressing, cheddar cheese, turkey, pepperoncinis, tomato, and all sorts of things he'd find in the fridge. He used to make me awesome Tuna Melts and Reuben Sandwiches were a favorite. He always had the softest down pillows on his bed, and I'd often climb in and watch an old movie with him. 
Poppy stopped wearing cologne years ago, but he kept smelling like it. He always bought us the most impractical gifts for Christmas. I mean, seriously. One year, he found a purse sale and bought me like 10 purses. I don't even carry a purse. But he loved me, and he was a beautiful writer. He wrote a lot of songs that I can still remember and will sing to my kids. He wrote the nicest cards, and as the disease progressed and writing became more difficult, I missed my beautiful (but illegible - Poppy always had terrible handwriting) cards. Poppy was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease (PD) in the early 90's. He underwent two surgeries called pallidotomies in the subsequent years, which improved his condition greatly. 
I believe those surgeries gave us more than a few extra years with Poppy. His condition worsened over the years and about a year before his death, he began experiencing trouble swallowing (dysphagia). PD causes uncoordinated movements, and he was not able to swallow food, water, or even saliva properly. None of his physicians had warned us about this very common symptom of late-PD so we were surprised when he had trouble breathing and asked to go to the hospital. At the hospital, his lungs were suctioned and found to be infected. He underwent surgery to remove the necrotic lung tissue, but a few days later began experiencing organ failure and breathing problems. He had a feeding tube, but even his saliva was being aspirated into his lungs, and we all (including Poppy) realized that this was how Parkinson's Disease ends. Before he had decided that he no longer wanted to pursue medical treatment, he crashed and they placed a ventilator. He hated the ventilator and wanted it removed, but legally the hospital was unable to remove it. In a final act of defiance (a character trait of his) he politely requested his hand restraints be removed and when the nurses backs were turned, he yanked that tube out of his throat, then refused to let them put it back in. A kind nurse called me and let me stay on the phone and talk to him as his respiratory problems finally claimed his life 2 hours later. He was strong and loving to the last breath, telling me and my mom, "I love you both. Don't cry about me, I'm okay."Poppy, I love you, and I miss you so much. I try not to cry because I know you hated people wasting tears over things they couldn't change. I've decided to spend my energy making you proud and working hard. You're a source of strength and comfort to me now, as you always have been. Get those pillows ready for me, I'll see you soon enough. I love you.
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