Beloved

When I wrote this I was fighting a miserable cold. It was the absolute worst I’d felt in forever. Nearly 20 years later I’m fighting a bizarre sinus infection, so wash your hands frequently and take your zinc and C.

In November of 2004 I had returned to Houston with a full heart, a tragic but good experience behind me, and a new outlook on what I want for myself. My family is terrific, full of extraordinary women who gave me the power to be whatever I wanted to be. They are still backing me in that, allowing me to live as I want without judging or putting their values off on me.

The men are amazing, as well. My Grandfather: a perfect cross of Gary Cooper, Clark Gable, and Roy Rogers, always spinning stories that actually happened to him, telling them with flare and heart, love and humor. Beautiful stories of his life with my Grandmother, how they met, how they lived during the depression, how they always made the best of everything.

He embodies integrity, dignity, straight shooting whatever came his way, living life boldly while facing every adversity head-on. Many folks have been duly impressed by his tall stature and his easy laugh, and many can boast of having the results of his meticulous handywork. He never backed down from a task, whether it was to plumb a sink or build a garage, fix a car (whatever the problem was) or roof a house. This was all after he retired. I wish I still had the house into which he had built so many structures, functions, beauty.

One time he told me “Lace, I may worry about your sister, but I know I never have to worry about you.” What a magnificent compliment, an affirmation of a life well lived, coming from such a great man.

He had become rather ill over the previous year but he rarely complained. I remember he was in a great deal of pain, but you wouldn’t believe it by the way he continued to tell his stories, share his thoughts and his jokes, how easy it was for him to smile when I walked in the room. He stoically faced his bone cancer with the same grit and determination he always exhibited in his life until he just couldn’t any more.

He went into a coma that last Wednesday before Thanksgiving week and, as the day wore on, his breathing became more shallow, more labored. He died the next morning at 1:30am. He slipped away in the night, just the way I had always prayed he would go. Pure Peace. He stayed with us long enough to say goodbye, to prepare (as much as one can) to let go of someone who had been there all our lives. He was 87 years old.  He and my Grandmother would have been married 68 years on January 2nd, 2005.

My Grandmother was okay, though I was very concerned. They met in the 1920s in West Texas while picking cotton. It must have been love at first site and she has never been without him.  I cannot imagine how that would feel.  Most of us will never know that depth of love.

He was always there for me. I am so fortunate, so blessed that I am… was his granddaughter.  There were only four of us grandkids. We are a very rare group. So few people have the opportunity that I had – to call this man “Grandpa”, to love and be loved by a man who had the most solid principles, the highest standards of anyone I have ever known. It’s been nearly 20 years and I still miss him. I will miss him for all my life.