Legacy of Love

January 7, 1988
Mobile, Alabama

Woodbury, Connecticut
Dearest Auntie Bussie,

We sent Daddy on his heavenly adventure yesterday with a simple, beautiful, incredibly moving service that celebrated every facet of his life through different loved ones’ tributes and remembrances.

About 150 family members, kinfolk, neighbors, personal friends, and a few old business associates gathered in the funeral home chapel to honor Daddy with a last goodbye. Poor Skip left his sick bed for the back seat of the car for the 500-mile trip from Orlando with Robin and Jenni. He had a fever, a sore throat, an awful cough, and inflamed eyes. My brother John’s son Adam was on crutches following surgery to remove the previously inserted pin that shortened his leg 2½ inches. Also there was dear Rose, for years like part of the family, helping the folks with housework. She and Daddy had a little routine: On Rose’s regular work day, Daddy would eagerly await her arrival, pour each of them a cup of his freshly brewed coffee, then they’d sit at the kitchen table and visit.

My brothers and I and others in the immediate family conducted the memorial, and several people commented afterward they would like a similar service. Even so, we were aware some of the more religiously traditional folks might have been dismayed at the absence of a minister. But Mom wanted the unusual ceremony for her most unusual husband of 56½ years. She loved the way we did it. I hope everyone appreciated the beauty and spirituality inherent in everything that was said and in the pure love that came through.

Thinking back, I must say there were probably as many chuckles as there were sad tears, which we’re sure would’ve pleased Daddy. I told a favorite little story of how, for as long as we could remember, he never liked to talk of death but would always offer that if he did die someday, he wanted to be buried standing up, definitely wearing shoes, so that if he happened to wake up again, he’d be all set to walk away. Maybe it was silly, but I made sure there was a pair of his shoes on hand, and when the funeral home attendant told me shoes really weren’t necessary, I said they were in this particular case.

This was Robin’s first viewing of a corpse – her beloved Granddaddy – and she needed much support. Four generations we were: I held her close, and she held Nicholas close as we looked upon and spoke of our love for this man who’d been so special in our lives. I told Robin it was the first time I’d seen so clearly that the body is only the shell; whatever it was that had been Daddy was no longer there.

Little Nicholas was the dearest comforter, wiping his mommy’s tears and planting soft, feathery kisses all over her face. Earlier, when the casket was still closed, Nicholas had told us he wanted the box opened so he could see. And as we stood there, he suddenly focused on that shell of Daddy, declaring, “I know God already took Granddaddy J.R’s heart. But what’s gonna happen to that?”

I didn’t know how David, at 18, would handle his granddaddy’s death. But he cried openly, and was sweet and tender and gentle with each one of the grieving family members. So many of the kinfolk and friends wanted to take him home, not surprisingly.

Without any prior experience with death, I wondered, too, how Jenni would respond. Not sure at first, she decided she did want to see her granddaddy’s body to say a final goodbye. She and I stayed in my old bedroom, the one I’d used when David and I lived with the folks in 1981, during the nights in Mobile. It was unusual, and very comforting, sharing the bed in the quiet of night, having the chance to really talk with my grown daughter at such a vulnerable time.

At graveside, the icy cold weather only emphasized the bleakness of our hearts at having to say goodbye for the last time and let Daddy go. Soon we piled into cars again, turned on the heaters to get warmed up, and headed back to the house.
Nicholas was still full of questions about all that had taken place and finally sort of sighed just one more, “Well … what do we do now?” To which Jenni wryly replied in a one-liner that would’ve tickled Daddy, “Go home and eat.” And we did – from the feast provided by kin, friends and neighbors.

Much love,
Pat