A Time to Laugh and a Time to Cry

You know the old clichés that seem to follow you around wherever you go? The ones like 'If you're down, the only place left to look is up', or 'Everything happens for a reason', or my personal favorite 'You don't know what you have until it's gone'. For every life event, there seems to be some saying that someone along the way tells you repeatedly, usually it's more than one somebody.

Well, personally I really do hate those old sayings. They feel so empty when someone says them to me and I try very hard to avoid saying them to others, but there comes a time where you just have to admit that as corny and hollow as they sound...they're true.

On November 12, 2010 my Granddaddy passed away and I'm here to tell you that you really don't realize how good you've got it until you don't have it anymore. I'm going to try to start at the beginning, but I'm pretty scatterbrained, so chances are I'll be running around in circles more often than going in a straight line.

The Beginning

I don't know when my grandparents met and I don't know how, though I really regret not finding out about that while sitting on Granddaddy's knee while I was growing up. The beginning of the story, as I know it, goes a little something like this:

My Granddaddy, Kenneth Allred, was in World War II. More specifically, he was in the Navy. Seeing as I wasn't around back then, I'm going by what I've heard here so bear with me. While he was serving our great country overseas Meredith Bowman sent him a package. Now I don't know how long they'd known each other prior to this or if they were sweethearts before the war, but I'm telling you from the beginning as I know it.

So, while my Granddaddy was serving in the Navy, my Grandmother sent him a package. In this package was a New Testament bible with a metal cover, a picture, and a letter. The picture was a high school picture of my Grandmother with a white flower in her dark hair. The letter was my Granddaddy's introduction to God, as well as sentiments from her I imagine. I don't know since I wasn't there, but in my mind that's the package that started it all. My Granddaddy's faith in God and the beginning of what would start the family that I was born in.

The story goes that when my Granddaddy got that package he said "I've got to get back home and marry that girl." And that's exactly what he did. What happened between then and when I came around 40 years later, I don't really know. I've heard stories from my Granddaddy (and others) about his childhood, early married life, his time in the war, and the things that made him HIM. But to be honest, the details are sketchy as my memory is foggy and it saddens me to no end to think of all the things I've forgotten about him.

I don't know how many jobs my Granddaddy had or how many he started from scratch. I know he was about as hard working as anyone could be. He was one of those people that believed that a man's success isn't set. That with the right work ethic and the right dedication, you could do anything you set your mind to...and far exceed anyone's expectations. He practiced what he preached here.

I know he was a contractor, an insurance salesman, he installed tile (I'm not sure what job title that would be), and he was a self named 'gopher'. He was never idle, even in retirement. But enough about what I don't know the full details on, let me tell you about the man that I knew.

The Man I Knew

My Granddaddy was a prankster, a comedian, a musician, a teacher, a storyteller, a cheerleader, a thinker, a builder, and an anchor.

He had the best lap. When you sat in it and leaned back or curled up, you fit just perfect against his full belly. It was my favorite spot to sit and watch TV, "help" him work a crossword, listen to stories, or just because. I loved listening to him breathing in and out and the beating of his heart. What I loved even more was hearing his booming voice through his chest when my ear was pressed up against it.

He told the best stories. He could make a story so real, you felt like you were inside it. He told true ones, somewhat true ones, and flat out exaggerated ones, but they were all good enough that you wanted to hear them again and again. I can't remember a single story now, but I remember how much I loved hearing them.

This is my story of the man I knew. My Grandmother, Dad, Aunt and Uncle, sister, and cousins have their own stories. They might have some of the same ones I have and they might have some different ones, but this one's the way I saw it.

The Shed Monster

Granddaddy had this shed where he kept his lawnmower and other yard work type stuff. It sat at the base of a small hill, so the back of it was even with the ground on top of the hill and the front was about 4 feet off the ground at the base of the hill. The back of it had a door, the front just an opening where a door would go. He liked to tease us grandkids and this was one of his favorite ways. He told us a tale that there was a monster that lived in that shed. He'd put a $20 on the floor of the shed where the opening in the front was and dare us to go get it. Of course, this was always at night when it was dark and we're country folk surrounded by trees and nature. So here we all were, knowing the monster wasn't real but scared out of our minds anyway, trying to sneak up to the lip of the shed and grab that $20 bill. When we got about a foot from the shed we'd hear this awful ROAR and stuff being shaken about. So we'd all turn tail and run as fast as our legs would carry us back into the house...

Little did we know that Granddaddy had thought ahead. He'd flipped the breaker in the house so none of the lights were on and the switches wouldn't work. So here we are, out of breath, adrenaline pumping, no lights, and scared out of our wits trying to find a place to hide. We'd hear another huge ROAR followed by our screams of adrenaline induced terror and then all the lights would come back to life.

I never did figure out how Granddaddy could beat us to the shed and then beat us back inside again, but he did it and it's one of the memories all the grandkids still carry close to our hearts.

Walking to Church

My Grandmother, being a woman and all, took a lot longer to get ready for church than my Granddaddy or I did. I spent the night with them most Saturdays so they could take me to church with them. I grew up in that church; from the nursery to the youth choir. Well, like I was saying, my Grandmother took a lot longer to get ready than we did, so just about every Sunday Granddaddy and I would start walking towards the church and Grandmother would pick us up after she was ready. Then we'd drive the rest of the way. The drive was never the important part, the walk was where it was at.

We'd set out, hand in hand, along the winding road just enjoying each other's company. "Look there, Tweety. You see that wasp nest up there in that tree? That nest tells you..." I can't remember now what the height of a wasp nest in a tree tells me. If it was that it would be a bad winter, a warm winter, a rainy season...I just can't remember. I hate not being able to remember. "You see that tree, Tweety? That's a Red Oak tree. You can tell by the leaves. See 'em?" He'd pull a leaf off. "Now you see that tree right there? That's a White Oak tree. You see how the leaves are different?" And he'd pull another leaf off to compare them. I can't remember which tree is which now either. But I guess the point is that I do remember experiencing that with him, I have those memories even if I don't remember the lessons.

The Fawn

I don't remember how old I was, maybe 8 or 9, I guess. But one day Granddaddy and I were driving down the road and we spotted a fawn standing next to its dead mother. The mother had been hit by a car and I guess the fawn just didn't know what to do without her. Somehow Granddaddy was able to get the fawn and he brought it home.

We went to the store and got the fawn a bottle to eat with and a collar to wear. I got to pick the bottle and chose one with Baby Taz on it from the Baby Looney Tunes. Granddaddy put the collar on the fawn so people would know not to kill it I guess. We bottle fed that little fawn for quite awhile. I don't remember when it was ready to go back out in the wild, but that was just the coolest thing to me. Getting to pet and feed a baby deer isn't something most kids can say they've gotten to do.

What gets me now is the fact that Granddaddy went to all the trouble in the first place. Did he do it because he felt bad for the baby, like I did? Or was it because I felt bad for the baby deer and he wanted to nurture that compassionate part in me? Either way, Granddaddy put his heart in it and we kept that little deer till it was big enough to handle life on its own. I wonder if it still came around my grandparents' house after we'd released it. I'll have to ask the next time I talk to Grandmother.

The Climbing Tree

Right in the corner of their yard stood the best climbing tree. It wasn't too tall or too short, it was just right for short little legs. It had so many different perches in it that my cousin Holly and I would spend hours just sitting in it and giggling like girls do. I'm not sure what type of tree it is. Yes, it's still standing, but the best perches have since been cut.

The tree had a split trunk and Granddaddy was worried that the big limb coming out (the best perch of all) was causing that side of the trunk to pull away from its brother. And since we were grown and weren't so much into climbing trees anymore, I'm betting he was tired of having to duck under it to mow. So the preferred perch was cut off, but the memories of that tree and the countless hours sitting in it remain.

There was another tree in his yard that still stands that he put a swing in for us. It was a regular old homemade kind, with rope attaching a wooden board seat to the tree limb. I couldn't tell you how many hours of my youth was spent in that old swing with Granddaddy or Grandmother pushing me. Granddaddy always pushed higher than Grandmother. I guess he knew we were resilient little monkeys, whereas Grandmother worried we fall and break our necks.

A few years ago when I went up for Thanksgiving or Christmas no one was parked under that tree. The rope from the swing had cut into the limb and weakened it. So Granddaddy was worried that it would fall on someone's car. I don't know if the limb finally fell or if he cut it down, but it's not there anymore.

The Airport and Flying

Granddaddy went down to the airport about every day to "loaf" around. He was buddies with the owner. The airport isn't the type you imagine. There were no commercial jets or security checkpoints. This was a small airport designed for smaller planes. As many times as I was at that airport, I only remember seeing an actual jet one time. It was a private jet with lots of windows and I thought it was pretty neat, but not as neat as seeing all the single prop planes in the hangar.

There was other stuff at the airport that filled my time besides just the planes. There was sand everywhere to play in, flowers to pick, and cracks in the pavement filled with tar. I loved all of that, especially the cracks with the tar. They were nice to look at and when you pushed your finger into them they were squishy.

Granddaddy loved to fly and I loved to fly with him. The airport was its own playground. The only people there was the owner Bill, his son Jeff, my Granddaddy, and me. So there were lots of places to explore and no one to bother you. I loved walking out in the hangar, which is where Jeff usually was, and just staring at all the planes housed there. Most were single prop engines with wings just high enough for me to be able to walk under without ducking if I walked in the right spot.

I loved running my hand over the wings and feeling the different parts of it and watching how they worked. Jeff was always patient and would answer my questions and handle my intrusions with grace and a smile.

I'd beg Granddaddy if we could fly today. He'd always sit a spell and act like he was thinking about it. I think he would have said yes every time without hesitation, but he wanted to see my anticipation grow. There's nothing like being up in the air like that.

Before we'd even get in, Granddaddy would walk around the plane and look at it really close. Then when we were in the cabin filled with all these controls that always confused me, he'd start looking at them. A twist here, a flip there, a tap tap tap on another and he was satisfied. Out to the runway we went.

I've never been in a jet and I don't know if you've ever been in a plane...so I don't know if the feeling is similar. But being in a plane, you've got the front row seat with the best view and when you were in that plane with my Granddaddy, you also had the best companion and pilot along for the ride. The rush of heading down the runway, picking up speed for takeoff. The feeling of leaving your stomach behind as the plane left the ground. The feeling of complete freedom at being up in the air with no one else around. The giggles, the joy, and yes even the fear...they were all wonderful. There's nothing in the world that compares to that feeling.

Granddaddy even taught me how to keep the plane in the air and use the radio. He taught me some of the lingo and some other basics about flying. His reasoning, even then, was that "Now Tweety, I don't like taking you up there by myself anymore. You've got to learn a bit of what to do in case something happens to me while we're up there." Of course, nothing ever happened to him while we were up there, but he always liked to be prepared and to make sure we were prepared too. I never did get the hang of landing the plane, but he had faith in me.

Driving at the Airport

I can credit Granddaddy with most of my driving instruction, and the fact that I no longer get car sick. It began with me sitting in his lap and helping him steer. As I got older (not to mention taller) he began to let me drive with him in the passenger seat. He had the same reasoning here as when we were up in the air. If something happened to him while we were out, he wanted to be sure I could get him to the hospital and I wouldn't panic. You have to think, this was a time before cell phones.

My formal driving instruction was done at the airport. Like I said, it wasn't a busy place. And there was lots of room to practice. Driving down the runway, backing up in the taxiways, parallel parking between some cones...it was all there to be had, and to be taught. He used what was there to its fullest and I might be biased, but I think he did a pretty good job.

On my 16th birthday Granddaddy took me to get my license, knowing I'd pass. I did. I hope he was proud.

The Holidays

Every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and birthday was spent, in part, at Granddaddy's house. So many people crammed into such a small house, but it was always worth it. Granddaddy loved good food and good company, as did we all.

At 1 o'clock it was time to eat! If you were running late, well your food was going to be cold and you'd better not complain if there wasn't any green beans left. Punctuality was important to Granddaddy, but with this it was more about his belly button gnawing at his backbone.

Grandmother would always point out that someone wasn't there yet and Granddaddy always had something funny, yet serious, to say about it. It was 1 o'clock. We were starting anyway. Granddaddy would say the blessing and thank God for just about everything that you can thank God for then we'd all say Amen, but Grandmother always had more to add. It used to be funny to me, but now I see it a little differently. I used to snicker about how she'd go on and on.

It's still funny, but it also has a bit more meaning to me now. Well, Grandmother would go on and on and on and we'd all still have our heads bowed waiting for her to finish. She'd still be going when Granddaddy would chime in with something like this really quickly in one breath "Yes Lord. Thank you for all that too and everything else. Jesus name, Amen." It wasn't that he wasn't thankful or was being disrespectful. It was that once Grandmother got going we'd be there until 2 o'clock praying and God knew we were thankful.

The Last Days

The last days were hard, but not as hard for me as I imagined they would be. I had it in my mind that Granddaddy was 86 years old. He'd been in WWII. He's married his sweetheart. He'd raised 3 kids, a passel of grandkids, and another passel of great grandkids. He'd lived his life to the fullest that it could have been lived. He was always doing something. He was always active.

So in those last days, I felt sorry for him. He was always so independent and active and now he couldn't be. I thought it would be better for it all to be over with than for him to have to live without the things he loved. I thought it would be better for it to end quickly than for him to suffer like he was.

I still feel that way, but it's tempered with my own selfishness now. I admit I thought he'd live forever. He didn't seem 86 to me. He still acted like he was in his 30's. I knew he was going to die, but somehow somewhere I still thought he'd live forever.

I called as often as I could to talk to him and see how he was feeling. I got to visit one time in the last days and he was sleeping peacefully. I cried then. I stopped at their church after I left and knelt by the sanctuary doors and cried some more and prayed my heart out to God. I had just woken up when I got the phone call that he'd passed away. I didn't cry. It still wasn't real. I knew he was gone, but somewhere inside me I guess refused to accept it as truth. I spoke to my sister and my dad a few times after he passed and before the funeral and I still didn't cry. It still wasn't real. I was happy he was gone because he wasn't suffering anymore, but what I had failed to let me mind think about was the fact that I'd never see him again on this earth.

On November 12th my Granddaddy went home to be with our Lord. The day before, Veteran's day, my middle son had a field trip to the aquarium. They were holding a Veteran's service outside and I stayed for that. I cried at that service. I cried when I shook a Sailor's hand and told him about my Granddaddy. I cried when he pulled me into a hug and told me "Thank your Granddaddy for me. He paved the way for us. If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have what we have now to fight for. Thank him for me. Thank him for all of us." I had Granddaddy in my heart at that service and I'd like to think he experienced it with me because I never got to thank him like that Sailor had asked me to.

On November 18th it became real. The day started with rushing, even though I'd gotten up especially early to not have to rush, it was still going to be rushed. I had to get ready, pick up flowers at the local florist, pick up 3 irises at a florist in another town on the way, put those flowers in the arrangement, drop off my oldest son with his step-mom, and get to the funeral home to see Granddaddy one last time. I was late. I cried.

The service was held in my Grandparents' church, so I was rushing to get to the funeral home before they moved him. I was late by a few minutes and all the speeding and hazard lights in the world couldn't have gotten me there faster, believe me I tried. They opened the casket back up for me and I gazed at him one last time and had them close it so they wouldn't be late.

The casket was draped with an American flag and his favorite cap sat atop it. The cap said he was a World War II Veteran, which he was very proud of. At the church they had a slideshow playing on the screens on the wall. I cried and cried and cried. They had pictures set up showing glimpses of his life. I cried. My Grandmother was being so gracious and cheerful, as always. I cried. I hid in the bathroom and cried. I hid in the anteroom and cried. I found my sister and cried. I cried so hard that I was hitch crying.

They started the service and the preacher used Granddaddy's metal bound bible and I cried. They talked about his life and I cried. They told his jokes and I cried. They read people's favorite memories off of strips of paper and I cried. They sang songs and I cried. I cried when I saw someone else cry. There was a tear flood and it was coming from me. The dam had been broken and I didn't know how to mend it.

We drove to the cemetery and my cousin Holly rode with me. We laughed and held back our tears. At the cemetery they gave him full military honors complete with a bugler playing Taps. I cried. The honor guard saluted his casket and I cried. They presented my Grandmother the flag and I cried. The service was over. My cousin David rode with me back to the church and we laughed and caught up with each other. We hadn't really spoken in years, so that was nice and I didn't cry. I cried when I hugged everyone goodbye. I cried all the way to the van.

Up until yesterday I've cried. I won't say there were no tears yesterday or today, because there's were, but they never made it past my eyes. Looking at the pictures is hard. It brings me joy and it brings me misery. I guess they'd call that bittersweet.

Now

Last night I started writing this post. I know it is long, but there are also so many things I still didn't say. I miss him terribly. I have regrets, but I think we all have regrets in times like these. In the end, I have to cherish the time I did have with him and be thankful for it. My heart wouldn't hurt so badly if I didn't have all of the wonderful memories inside me, but I wouldn't trade the memories to get rid of the pain.

Yesterday my sister called and told me that my Grandmother is going to host Thanksgiving as her house, like always, and that it's covered dish. I didn't expect her to do Thanksgiving this year, but I will go. I can't not go. What if this is HER last one? My fear is how hard it will be. I love going to their house, but this time...this time someone will be missing. Someone will be missing and that will be the hardest part.