For the first time tonight, in 67 years of living on this earth, my dad is without his dad. For the first time in my 45 years, tonight, I have no remaining grandparents in this world. Those of you who have experienced this particular loss know the complexity of emotions that fill us now. It will take my brain a while to accept this inevitable truth.
Another member of “the greatest generation” has gone on to his reward. My Pappaw Carl was born in 1920. He grew up “dirt poor” but didn’t really know it, and probably if you had asked him, he would have considered himself to be quite rich!
The little guy in this picture is my grandfather. The boys here in the picture were supposedly ready for church. Only one had shoes. The middle boy was Pappaw’s beloved brother Ralph. Pappaw Carl and my great uncle Ralph ended up marrying sisters named Mary and Martha back in 1963, and the four of them left for Florida and never returned (except for visits) to their home state of Tennessee. Ralph died in 1979. Mary, Martha, and my Pappaw continued on together until 2005, when Mary passed away. Martha could have turned over Pappaw’s care to a nursing home, or some of the rest of us in the family, but she remained with him and saw to his care, even though she is now in her 80’s and just had a knee replacement. She was the only one with him when he passed this morning. She had promised Mary that she would take care of him after Mary died, and she more than kept that promise.
Pappaw with Mary (l) and Martha (r) and my boys Dan and Sam about 1991 I will always remember my grandfather as a tall, handsome, charismatic man who charmed folks wherever he went. Many of my dad’s cousins have remembered him as their favorite uncle. He loved to sing and he loved to laugh. He would give you the shirt off his back if he could. He was a talented man in sales. As the old saying goes, he could have sold a refrigerator to an Eskimo. I guess that is where his only granddaughter got her love of sales as well.
He, in my humble and biased opinion, was the handsomest of his clan. There were 8 boys and 3 girls in the family. He stood at least 6'3" or 6'4", and if you wonder where my boys and my brothers got their stature, look no further. He always had wavy, perfectly coiffed hair, and he had a pair of the prettiest blue eyes you have ever seen. He was a Marine during WWII. I wish I had a picture here of him in his uniform. He was something!
This picture was made on the day he lost his father. He’s the one on the middle right with tear-stained cheeks. He felt things deeply. Again, I can surely relate.
He loved nothing better than Sundays. In fact, in his last days, when his mind began to slip, he often got up and dressed for church, always in a suit and tie, and came to the breakfast table. Dear Aunt Martha would have to tell him it was only Friday. I knew something was very wrong a couple of months ago when he no longer knew what to do with the communion when it was passed. The strokes were beginning.
It was only appropriate, I pointed out to my mother this morning when she called in the darkness to tell me that he was gone, that he passed on the Lord’s Day. I think he somehow held out all week for this day. Strangely, emails have been flying all day about various warriors of the faith that passed in the past 24 hours. I pray now that he is in the comfort of paradise, with all these devout men. His sister, the one standing just below him in the picture above, will likely join him in eternity before too long. Of all the eleven siblings, now only two girls and two boys remain.
I’m sad for some of our young people. Many of you have never had the privilege of sitting in an un-air-conditioned house at the feet of a bunch of boring “old men” hearing their stories. You’ve never seen a mother seat a family of 25 or more at her modest table for Sunday lunch, after just making breakfast from scratch a few hours earlier and then getting the whole lot of them dressed and to services on time. You’ve never gotten to see a family of Christians (as plentiful as the sand on the seashore) come home after a funeral for one of their own and burst into songs of praise to God and sing for hours. Many of this generation would call these activities “purely boring.” I was blessed. I came into this world before gaming devices and cell phones captured the attention of youth and robbed them of time spent with men and women of character who impart wisdom and values the internet cannot hold. I would not trade all those days of “boredom” for all the technology in the world.
I could be wrong, but I don’t think that I will ever forget the sound of my grandfather’s precious tenor voice singing and singing as long as someone would sing with him. When his voice failed, and the words no longer came this week, he still managed to use those fabulous baby-blue eyes to communicate his love for his family. When his strength was gone, he still managed to get my mother’s hand to his mouth for one more gentlemanly kiss. Kissing was another thing he loved to do. He kissed everyone on the lips as his ancestors had before him. He taught me best what “greet one another with a holy kiss” might have meant.
It's hard to imagine going on with your life minus someone that has just always been there. I know that, like my other grandparents who are now on the other side of the bar, he will always remain in my heart. His "bird legs," his deep emotions, his charm, his many talents, and the song that was always in his heart...these and many other things about him will stay with me and comfort me and bring a smile to my lips when the tears are finished flowing.
