Strength Forged By Fire

My mama stayed alone last night. The night before what would have been her 68th anniversary married to my daddy. I am constantly amazed at the strength of this 88 year old lady. She is astounding!

Life Goes On

I am amazed at the rapidity with which life moves on after death. My friends on Facebook keep posting events and happenings in their worlds, the news keeps reporting the happenings in the world at large, babies continue to be born, others leave the earth daily, It is as if Daddy's death was only a blip on the screen and then life goes on.

I must be honest and say that irritated me just a little. Not with people, just the circumstance. It seems my daddy deserves more than a few hours in one day to be remembered, but I am sure everyone feels that way about their loved one's demise. It was only in the beginning, I felt so upset by this. Now there is something sweet about it. Babies are born, people marry, kids graduate, and life goes on. It is easy to focus on the bad in life, the sorrow, the emptiness, the failure, the pain. How much better when one can look past that and see the good, feel the sunshine, dance in the rain, enjoy the wonder that surrounds us everyday.

My daddy does deserve to be remembered and he will be. Not by everyone whose life he touched because their own lives are not consumed with his absence, but he will be thought fondly of on occasion by us all and for some of us that will be a daily occurance. He lives on in our hearts, our thoughts, our memories, our offspring and in God's heaven.

I hope my mama can find some joy in life without Daddy. I wish that for her so desperately. She has spent her life caring for others and I would love for her to experience life on her terms, with no thought of anyone else's preferences. To just once, before she leaves this earth to able to do what she wants to do, when she wants to do it and for however long she chooses to do so. She has earned it, she deserves it, and I pray she is able to have it.

Seventeen Days - Part 2

After Daddy's body left their home for the last time, it was decided that I would stay with Mama that first night. Callie and Gracie chose to stay with me. They slept in Granddaddy's bed while I slept on the couch.

I awoke early the next morning and paced the floor. Everywhere I looked, the walls, the floors, the landscape; all seemed to ooze the presence of my daddy and yet, his absence screamed at me from the very same places. I walked outside to escape the swell of emotions that were springing up within me. What greeted me were the buildings he built, the fields he plowed, the pastures where he raised cattle, the sheds he tinkered in, until my gaze turned to the fig trees and grape vines he planted. Baby figs were hanging in large numbers from the branches of the trees, and bunches of grape seedlings clung in clumps to the vines he tended so lovingly until his traitor body would no longer allow outside activities. Then I noticed honeysuckle vines winding their way throughout the grapes, weaving and twining around the fruit vines with full intent of choking the life from them. I began ripping and tearing the weed from my daddy's vines with a ferocity that must have made me resemble an insane person. Callie startled me when she asked in a very concerned tone, "Mom! What are you doing?" I sheepishly explained that the vines needed to be weeded and Grandmama couldn't do that so I was doing it for her. Poor honeysuckle. Under normal circumstance I really do like honeysuckle, just not that day.

We met later that Friday, with Harrison Funeral Home to make the arrangements for the service. We chose a simple but elegant black casket with silver trim. I later learned from Paige, that one of the decorations was Fleur de Lis, which is French for Flower of Life. I loved that. We opted for a spray of greenery with large, white, Football Mums and small, crimson, wild roses scattered throughout. In the center of the spray rested Daddy's Houndstooth hat. It was stunning in its simplicity.

The church ladies prepared a feast for the family and that is such a priceless gift to offer the bereaved. It is a time to connect, reconnect, visit, laugh, weep, hug, strengthen, and comfort each other, before taking on the distasteful task that lies before them. Prior to the funeral we had a viewing of the body. Hard stuff, that. Micah, who had been so strong and tried to be brave for all of us could not keep his emotions in check, once he saw Granddaddy's body in the casket. He wept until I thought my heart would break. Then Mama came and stood by the casket for the longest time, choking back tearful sobs. With each of her pitifully, brave attempts to choke back the tears, my heart shattered even more. Gracie stood and ran from the room just after I had gotten Mama to a seat, so after placing Micah in someone else's hands, I chased her downstairs where I found her hanging head over the toilet, sick with grief. That part is somewhat a blur from trying to care for everyone else and their sadness. Soon it was time to begin our goodbyes.

We took our places in the reserved pews among the mourners, who filled the building to capacity with standing room only. The masses were a cross-section of Daddy's life from the aged down to the infant. Each represented someone who loved him or loved one of his family members. Stan Foster began our service with Victory in Jesus. The singing was beautiful. Curtis Earl Sampley read a letter from Deborah, Daddy's nurse/caregiver from Tender Touch Home Care. It was a beautiful letter and I believe it to be sincerely from her heart, for she loved them both so well and cared for them for many months on a near daily basis. Curtis told us from his heart what Daddy had meant to him for so long. Stan led Home of the Soul and it was surprisingly upbeat, which is what we had asked of Stan. Then the grands took the podium and Paige read a heart-rending tribute to Daddy from all of them, telling of the fond memories and all the good that he instilled in them. Next, Raymond Elliott told stories of his friendship with Daddy through the years. He also read the article published in Our Families magazine that Kristi had authored after interviewing Mama. It was sweet and even made us all chuckle a time or two. We ended with a prayer and proceeded to the cemetary. It was very hot, so the words were short there. Then it was over and we all dispersed.

There was not much need for words at that point. Daddy had been sick for so long and each of us had said all that needed to be said. Our farewells had begun months, perhaps years earlier when all this began. Even still, after that much time has passed, it never seems enough. You are never truly ready to let go. We are so resistant to change, even when to be so is pointless. Change is inevitable and the sooner we embrace it the better we are.

Later, on Facebook one of my nephews who lives in Florida stated that if he could have a funeral like that, he would move to Alabama. Alas, it is not the geography, it is the integrity and the character of a man that evokes this kind of response to his demise.

Daddy accepted his fate with dignity and grace. He set a fine example; a clear path to follow. Even in death, he is showing me the way. I know I didn't always listen to you, Daddy, but I am listening now. I watched carefully and took mental notes. I hope to be able to show the bravery and courage that you exhibited, when my time comes. Rest in God's peace, Daddy. See you again, soon.