Paying Respects

The high school basketball season is upon us. I’m a huge fan of Lady Cats basketball. I usually start the countdown to the first game around six months ahead of time. I love watching those kids play ball. When the first game of the season rolls around each year I find myself looking around the gym, searching for old faces as well as new fans. There are several diehards. Mr. Tom Richardson, Mrs. Odell Hamby, and too many others to count. When I see their usual seat or spot along the railing empty, I’m always concerned. There are certain folks that are just always there. Unfortunately, they are getting older and it is harder on them to get out as winter progresses. When I see them, I always make a point to go speak to them for a bit. I love talking to the older crowd and hearing their stories.

Over the last decade I’ve become more aware of losses in my own life, and in our community in general. Folks that I’ve always known, enjoyed talking with, and taken for granted that they would always be there, have passed on. I commented to a buddy a few months ago that it’s a sure sign that I’m getting older as I now attend many more funerals than I do weddings. And the funerals themselves, at least in my family, are changing too. Attendance is getting smaller. My family is dying off, and the peers of the older generation are going, too. A vivid memory that I have of my funerals on Daddy’s side of the family is of Mr. Garnett Lovell always being there. He lived just over the mountain from Paw Paw’s farm on Bridge Creek. Mr. Garnett was there every time, always wearing his best overalls. I always made a point to go talk with him and spent a good bit of time with him. I realized without thinking about it that he was the last tie to Paw Paw’s generation. Now Garnett Lovell has passed on and his grandson Jeffrey is the one coming to our funerals.

My Daddy is the last of eight siblings living, and now I’ve lost one cousin from my own generation. At my cousin’s visitation and funeral, I noticed a surreal vibe, for lack of a better way to phrase it. Everyone there went out of his or her way to come talk to Daddy. Not simply to offer condolences; it was clear that they wanted to be around him, to talk to him. I noticed Jeffrey Lovell there with him and it reminded me of his grandpa. It was right then that I realized Daddy had become the last of his generation and the patriarch of his family.

As I sit here editing this short essay, Daddy is in his last weeks or days. After enduring half a dozen successful heart and vascular surgeries in less than four years, he was diagnosed with end stage metastatic cancer two weeks ago. I’m spending every second with him that I can, and trying to get new stories from him while he’s able to tell them. Nevertheless, I know there are many stories that will die with him. I can’t imagine life without him. He has always been tough as nails and is supposed to always be there.

Tomorrow at the first home Lady Cats game I will definitely appreciate seeing the old familiar faces and will not take any of the conversations for granted. Paying respect…