Recently our family lost a loved one due to complications of
Alzheimer’s disease which is very sad tragic way to rob an individual of his
independence, dignity and finally his life! As a small group of family members
and friends gathered to honor and remember Uncle Paul’s 90 years of life I was
struck by a variety of thoughts and feelings.
First of all I was saddened by the fact that no matter how
hard I tried I could not make the trip to be a part of the small remembering
crowd yesterday under the bright blue and sunny skies overlooking a lake in
southern Springfield. Health issues, kid issues, timing issues and etc. etc.
just kept getting in the way and no matter how hard I tried to make it happen
it just wasn’t going to work! My heart was saddened and disappointed by not
being able to be there to say a final farewell to a very distinct and beloved member
of this family. My feelings ranged from guilt to relief throughout the day
yesterday as I thought about my Aunt Marie who was saying a final goodbye to
the man she called husband for fifty plus years.
As I went through the process of determining if I could be
in attendance it occurred to me that as a society our ability to honor and
respect those who have passed has changed so much as we have transitioned to this
younger generation. No more do people do everything in their power to attend a
funeral or even a visitation. My grandparent’s generation spent a great deal of
time and energy managing the death and funeral process. People used to set time
aside to honor and respect those who had gone before them. Life stopped for a
day or two as they took time manage their grief and sadness and were allowed to
do that with by others. Now people are lucky to be able to get an hour or two
off to attend a service or visitation session assuming they even see it as a
priority. This realization truly set me back. I don’t write this to make anyone
feel bad or guilty, but as a retelling of my own journey!
When my brother, Jeff, died when I was 11 years old it was
an amazing three days of sadness, healing, loss, laughter, family and most of
all love! The night Jeff died, I vividly recall my father entering the room where
I was and telling me that, “Jeffy had go to heaven to be with Jesus!” Crawling
into his lap to cry silently into his shoulder I felt my father’s love as his
own years fell into my hair and it was the greates bonding moment we ever
shared as father and son. Within an hour our home was filled with family and
friends who came to be with us. I remember the sounds of laughter and sight of
loved ones sharing memories and hugs as we all grieved together. My brother’s
two year illness had taken a toll on our family as a whole and there was a
sense of relief that filled the air that night. Not relief for any of us, but
rather relief for Jeff that he was no longer suffering and in pain. Watching my
brother suffer though his illness had a profound effect on me as a boy and even
now as a man. I thank my parents for the choice they made to allow me to be a
part of his illness rather than be shielded from the situation. It has given me
mercy and compassion that I am not sure I would have without those experiences.
My father tucked me in that cold February 20th night with the house
still full of family and friends. He sat on the side of my bed in the room I
had shared with my brother and said a prayer with me as I prepared to sleep and
I still remember the tear that streaked down his cheek as he bid me goodnight
and it donned on me in that moment that I was his only living child.
The following three days were full of casseroles (blek) and
people coming and going and the actual visitation and funeral itself. The day
of the visitation I remember not wanting to see Jeff lying in that casket. When
I did finally go see him I couldn’t believe it was him and it did not look like
my brother to me and I couldn’t look any more. I turned and the only person
standing there was our pastor and he held me in his arms and let me cry. We sat
down and he just let me get it all out. After that initial moment of grief I felt
my own personal relief and was able to view the remaining hours of the wake as
a party as my cousins, friends and I explored the funeral home. Hey I was 11
and my parents and I were the center of attention and I pretty much got
anything I wanted and I got to ride in a limo!
My grandparents used to attend the funeral or wake of family
members or friends without fail and even attended those of friends and family
of friends and families that they might not have even known well. I used to
think as a child that they were just being nosey and didn’t have enough to do,
but as an adult I say, “Shame on me for thinking such a thing!” Kudos to Nanny, Pappaw and Gram others of
their generation who took time to honor and remember and to be there for ones
most lost in grief. I admit I have failed in this area in my life, and from
this time forward that will change.
The ability to deal with one’s own grief and sadness at the
passing of a loved one is an entire separate field of study within psychology
and I have to wonder the following. Has our society’s willingness to allow
other things to be more important than to honor, respect and grieve our losses
created a society that cannot appropriately process loss and grief? In return
has this transformation fed into the reality that our society is more
disconnected than ever before.
I cannot go a single day without thinking about those who
have gone on before me. Whether it is my brother, Jeff, Nanny, Gram, Pappa,
Aunt Jeanne, Aunt Judy, Uncle Jerry, Aunt Martha and now Uncle Paul and others
who have touched my life in such powerful ways. I remember these characters of
my life story with fondness and find myself smiling and aching to hear the
sound of their voices or laughter. As those sounds echo in my soul I thank God
for allowing those characters to play a role in my life! Without each of those
folks I would not be who I am today. As each of these individuals passed from
this life to the next I have been privileged to take time and honor and
celebrate each of their lives! This blog entry serves as my special remembrance
and moment of honor to Uncle Paul.
A few words about this man, who was a bit of a mystery,
enigma, paradox, hmmmm, let’s just suffice it to say he was “something!” Millard
Paul Gibbs was born into a God fearing family of faith and he was surrounded by
love and faith his entire life. He endured great tragedy and provided great
mercy and compassion to those he cared about. He met his wife and helped her
heal and grow beyond her own past and hurt. Though he was never to have
children of his own, we all knew who those special folks (Mojo) were in his
life that were like his own children. I love that they together were foster
parents to several children during the late 60’s and early 70’s, which of
course is one of my own passions. This man knew the Way, the Truth and the Life!
He knew scripture inside and out and there was no other team but the St. Louis
Cardinals. He loved his Boston Terriers (Dusty, Spooky and Tag) and he could
walk miles in a day (right Jay)! He never appeared to be afraid of anything,
especially when dangling from precarious positions atop a ladder!
One of the interesting things about him was that he was not self-exalting
and in many ways very humble and avoided the limelight at all costs right down
to always holding his hand up to the camera when someone said “Cheese!” Who
doesn’t have a picture of Uncle Paul with the famous hand blocking his face!
The greatest example of this characteristic was that he spent two years in
active military service during WWII but yet never talked about it. I didn’t even
know this until a few years ago! I truly believe that he never spoke of it as
he did not feel his service as a mechanic or office staff was not as significant
as those he knew who lost their lives on the front line. Now any one of us
would gladly recognize that his contributions helped keep America safe, but
given the man he was it is likely he wasn’t going to take credit for something
that couldn’t even compare to those who lost their lives!
Uncle Paul (or Aunt Millie as I liked to teasingly call him)
loved a good joke and had a nick name for many of his loved ones. I admit I
will miss him calling me Brockalene! Ohhhh how I used to hate that. If he had a
hose nearby we all learned to steer clear and on the flipside sit and watch all
of us young’uns try and sneak up on him with a hose when he wasn’t looking and
to gently remind those youngun’s that his payback were always worst, just ask
Sheila. One of my fondest memories is watching my oldest son, Squirter
(Courtney), as he would try time and time again to get one up on Uncle Paul. He
was no respector of age, it wasn’t just the kids he would get with the hose, and
he would even go after the older folks which was always a blast for us young
folks to see in action. Watching the older folks go a running from the hose and
screamin’ and hollerin’ all the way amidst laughter. These are the memories that
make me smile and even lose a tear from time to time.
One of the most tender moments I have of Uncle Paul is when
he was advancing in his years and in the disease and was already living in a
memory care unit and my 2nd oldest son, Will, and I were there to
visit him. I think all the kids were there that day, but Will stepped up and
started talking to Uncle Paul and even convinced him to sit down and play some
tunes on the organ. On another day, Will took Paul on a walk down the alley
behind my parent’s home and around the block. It was ordinary moment for both
of them, but for many of us watching it was a tender moment that we will never
forget. Even in the later years Uncle Paul had a way with those who were
hurting most. I am grateful that he never shunned my children but accepted them
and loved them for who they are! I don’t know why but Uncle Paul and Will were
a good match the two of them. I am sad that they weren’t able to develop that
relationship into something deeper.
There are so many more things I could say about this man yet
the most important thing I can say is that he loved God first and foremost and
loved Aunt Rea and did anything he could to keep her happy and for that I am
thankful. I am proud to call him Uncle and know he is playing that heavenly
organ and I am sure in charge of the hose up there. So when you get there and
see a man with a hose! I know one thing.....you better RUN!
All this to say, as we enter into the days of the month of
May, which holds Memorial Day in the U.S. and the Day of Remembrance in Israel (honoring
those lost in the Holocaust) let us not forget those we have lost and those who
may still be hurting as a result of those losses. Let us not be ashamed to
share with someone else that we are sad and hurting as the result of losing a
loved one. Take time and remember and share those memories with someone else.
Better yet ask someone to share a special memory of someone that has gone before
them. Let us not forget…I KNOW I WON'T!
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