Four years ago today I received a phone call from my cousin, Rachel, who sobbed into the phone, "Grandpa's dead." He had been sick for a few years, and we knew this day was inevitable, but it still sent shock waves through my soul. I'd love to tell the story of his funeral, and perhaps I will sometime this week, but for now I just want to share some of my memories of this remarkable man.He was a big man with a gruff voice that scared me when I was younger. I never wanted to make him angry for fear of what he would sound like. And yet, I can also still see him standing next to me in church singing worship songs in that baritone. I can also still hear his voice blessing Sunday and holiday dinners.
The year before he died, we stayed up until the wee hours of the morning on the front p
orch swing. He told me war stories about Navy ships and German torpedoes and how isolated and frightening the South Pacific is in the middle of the night. I also remember wondering that night just when he would stop talking so we could go to bed, and I'm so glad tonight that I just kept listening. It turns out that was one of the few times he ever talked about his time in the Navy.I once sat across from him at the kitchen table eating cereal. Always aware of my manners, I wasn't sure if I could drink the remaining milk from my bowl like I would at home. After trying to scoop out the milk with my spoon, he told me, "Just drink it from the bowl" and proceeded to do so himself. He would later offer other useful tips like, "A house is just a place to hang your hat and store your crap."
We watched a lot of football together and cheered for both the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Florida Gators. I still have his Bucs jacket hanging in the closet, and I will wear it even though it is 3 or 4 sizes too big for me. He took me out on his boat more times than I can remember, and that deal worked out well for both of us. He could fish and I could pretend to fish while getting myself mentally lost in the nature around us. He once took me to see Lake Kissimmee in the boat after my endless pleading, and when I asked him to take me down the Kissimmee River to see Lake Okeechobee, his response was a Dean classic: "Have you been to the beach? Well, it's a big lake that looks like the ocean. You've already seen that."It's hard for me to describe how just his presence made me feel safe. No matter what kind of turmoil was swirling in my life, I could just sit in a recliner next to him or lean up against his shoulder and all seemed right in the world. Even as his health declined, I still felt more at ease just being in the same room with him watching Wheel of Fortune or working the newspaper crossword.
For 26 years of my life, this man was a constant. He never varied in his convictions. He loved his family and his Lord dearly. At his memorial service, I remember saying something about how his ideals should live on in his grandchildren and that if I could live even a fraction of the truth he lived, my life would be a success. He left behind some big shoes to fill, and right now I miss him very much.
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