the SmockLady

Goodbye, Papaw. I love you!

Published on Tuesday, January 29, 2008 some time around 8:48 am-ish.
26 views •

My words do not want to come easily, yet you are all I can think about today. You were an awesome grandfather, the best. I have so many wonderful memories of time spent with you. As an adult I have often thought about the summers of my youth gone by when we would spend weeks with you.

I loved getting up early with you to go hunting in your woods or fishing on your brother’s lake. I liked feeding your chickens and steeling their eggs with you. Even chasing off the snakes that came through time and again to get those eggs before us. I will never forget the time you stopped me from putting my hand in that one hen’s nest so the snake I couldn’t see wouldn’t get my hand. You quickly realized the golf ball did it’s job and that poor snake never had a chance - it was dead. I always wondered why you put those in the hen’s nests. I learned that day; funny how I never wondered enough to ask.

I still cherish the times we drove or walked down to the country store to have a ice cold coke while sitting on the empty crates as you talked and chatted with your buddies. I loved that you always had ice cold Coca-Cola in your refrigerator, by the flat. I liked helping you carry that flat full of empty glass bottles back down to the sore so we could trade it in for another one with full bottles of coke. I guess I can blame you for my love of cherry cokes, you made my first one for me and they are still my favorite drink. But only when made right and you knew how to make them right.

As I got older it used to drive me crazy that you would walk so slowly whenever we were out. I would say, “Hurry up, Papaw.” And you would tell me how life was too short, not to rush it, enjoy it, even the tough times. You sat me down one day after Mamaw died and you told me some things about your life and what was really important and what was worth fighting for in life. I get that now, it just took a little growing up on my part. You showed me your report cards from school and how you had to drop out so you could go to work for your family to be able to eat. It was an unspoken thing for us, but you were my protector. It was not until I was older that I got that, remembering all the times that you took me everywhere with you.

I remember all the gardens: we would drive up to help plant the seeds and then when it was harvest time we drove up to help pick. I loved that family garden. I remember all the food those gardens produced and what you and Mamaw could do with all that food: canning, freezing, pickling, drying. I don’t remember ever going to the grocery store with you guys once you moved to the country. I know you did, but it wasn’t often; you understood the simple life and lived it.

And these memories are just a drop in the bucket. I will miss the way you spoke, slowly and quietly. I will miss the way you smelled of your pipe. I will miss you. I have missed you for so many years already. I mourn the day the family fell apart and how that put a canyon of space between us. I tried to call you and see you, but every effort I made was blocked. I wanted you to have more years with your great-grandchildren. I love how much you adored them. I love how you snuggled them and doted over them. I love the way your eyes shone when they were around you. I wish you had been able to meet Harry. He’s a sweetheart and loves to snuggle more than any of them. You guys would have snuggled for hours together.

My heart aches that I can not be there today when you are laid to rest. I knew this day would come, and I knew that it might come and go without my knowledge. I feared that more than anything. And it almost did happen that way. I did not know you were so ill that this day would be so close. I am thankful for the one who e-mailed John to let me know you had died. I would have been there to hold your hand hand I known. I pray you knew that.

You always put others before you. You always put yourself last; you made sure every one else was taken care of before you. You had no great dreams or desires; at least none that you ever spoke. It was always about everyone else.

I want to be there for you today, to tell you goodbye. In reality, I want to be there for me. But I can’t be there and that breaks my heart. You lived long and you lived well, ninety-three years is long life. It is time for you to rest. I love you.

Delma Frazier
December 20, 1914 - January 27, 2008

Related posts

• No related posts.