So, it’s been one year. One year that I have not talked to
you. One year since I have not had lunch with you. One year since I’ve heard a
funny insult from you. One year since I’ve heard you laugh. One year since I
have heard you say I love you, before you hung up the phone with me. One year
……… sucks.
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But, there are those of us that are here are still grieving
and hurting. I miss you every single moment. I see a Care ambulance go by and I
think of you. My boys go fishing and all I can do is think of you. I watch them
play basketball and baseball and you come to mind. I look at your grandson and
he looks like you and it makes my heart smile and hurt all at the same time. I
didn’t even know that was possible.
I remember that dreadful phone call. “There’s been an
accident. It’s your brother.” Those words! I remember throwing the phone and
falling onto the floor in a crying screaming heap in my hallway. I have
replayed that moment one thousand times since that night. I remember my
children crying uncontrollably, because Uncle Freddie was gone. I recall
telling my husband that I felt like an orphan now. I felt so alone that night,
even though there were tons of people around me. Our bond was so strong and I
felt like it was severed that night. I felt lost in the devastation. I
remember, vividly, my youngest son bouncing the tennis ball off the
refrigerator over and over and over. I told him to talk to me. He said I am
angry. I could relate. I found myself
going from sadness to anger over the next few days. It was and is still SO hard
to move forward without you. I want to call you and tell you things. You were the
one person that I could say anything to and there was no judgement. I remember looking for scripture to help me.
One of them stood out more than the others. It reads, the Lord is close to the
brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
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Some of the things that I remember about you - You always
made people laugh. You had the ability to make the best of every situation. You
always had a joke, no matter how dumb or inappropriate it was, you would tell
it. And those pranks - I remember them well. I also remember some of your not
so finer moments. Throwing a fit about a Christmas present, the turkey fiasco
of 2012, not speaking to me once for about 6 weeks, because I told you that you
were not handling a particular situation correctly, turning the boat when we
would go fishing so you were the only one able to cast in the sweet spots. Oh,
and let us not forget that you were the king of forgetting your wallet when it
was time to pay.
You also gave of yourself. You went back to school to learn
to be an EMT, so you could help people. You stayed indoors at a cubicle for
over two decades, which drove you crazy I’m sure, so your kids would have
insurance and would be provided for. You were a volunteer fireman with
Burkville FD. I received messages from people saying you mentored them. You
worked with the youth. I was told you would always find the one kid that was
standing alone,
the one that seemed different from the group. You had a heart
for them. I read a message that said that said you were the one that told them
about Jesus. I know you stayed at work once for a coworker whose mother was
sick, so she could care for her. You would drive almost an hour to watch
baseball or soccer for your nephews. You took them on numerous fishing trips.
They loved staying in the summer with you. I am so grateful that they have
those memories of you. The last time we had lunch together you said you had
something that you wanted to talk to me about. I was kind of concerned, because
seriousness was not in your nature. You told me that you wanted to be a foster
parent, because there are so many kids out there that just needed someone to
love them. We discussed that in your county it would probably be black children
that you would foster. I said, so. You wanted to know what I thought about
that. I said that I thought it would be wonderful and then you made the comment
that our grandfathers would be rolling over in their graves. We laughed and made
politically incorrect statements about what they would think. Everyone in the
restaurant was staring at us like we had lost our minds. I am so thankful that
God gave me that last precious moment with you.
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His fireman's turnout gear |
So, a year, a really long year, without you. You took care of me for 47 years. I could type
forever about you and tell stories for days. I will carry on like you would
want me to. I will get through today, the next day, and the next. I love and
miss you forever.