“If you don’t go after what you want, you’ll never have it. If you don’t ask, the answer is always no. If you don’t step forward, you’re always in the same place.” ~ Nora Roberts
It’s true. They come in threes. On Monday, one of my oldest friends, Eugene Crase, lost his papaw after whom he was named. The elder Eugene (Faulkner) was a man I respected; good through and through. Yesterday, Mamaw’s last sibling died. Aunt Mary was 94. Mamaw worried about her constantly, with good reason I suspect. This morning, Bobby Hager died of a massive heart attack. You might remember Bobby from an earlier post this year. He battled a rare disease, but soldiered through and even managed to come to mom and dad’s anniversary party back in April. Though he had been sick a while, his death was somewhat unexpected.
I tend to lament aging when my bones pop, my muscles seize, I forget why I went into a room, and so forth, but really, the worst may well be watching people I love suffer. It’s not death that bugs me. No, it’s the inevitable loss of function in people I recollect as strong and healthy that gets to me; that and all the ancillary things that come with that. For example, Aunt Mary’s simple cremation without a memorial service. This can be troubling to some traditionalists, but from my point of view, this lack of public expression simply emphasizes that we needn’t have a body present to pay our respects to a person’s spirit. I often whisper a prayer of thanks for someone important to me, whether they’re living or dead. I do it while I’m walking to the office, grocery shopping, playing drums, feeding the cat, doing the dishes, or mowing the yard. I catch myself saying ‘thank you’ virtually every hour of every day. I’ve been blessed with an extraordinary cast of people whose gifts stay with me long after their physical presence is gone. I don’t need a public setting to show my respect. What’s more respectful than to be a reflection of their love, and pass it on to others? Sometimes, like tonight, when a simple thank you doesn’t seem enough, I light a candle in their honor, say a prayer of thanks, and continue to count my blessings. God hears us in private as if we were graveside.
Hang on a sec, we’re not ending on a sad note, no way! Behold: our first outhouse contest entry. My good friend, Carol Hart, sent along this gem from the old Lowry School, or maybe the old Liberty School she’s not sure which, from north of Tahlequah, Oklahoma. Carol seems perfectly at home in an outhouse, wouldn’t you say? Carol has set the bar – let’s see your outhouse!
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