After a full life, my 98 year old Papa passed away in April. He had become increasingly frail since before Daddy passed away. We never fathomed he would out-live his son, but it seemed he had his sights set on his 100th birthday. I was thankful I was able to see him at Christmas and prepared myself for the reality that it could be our last visit on this earth. After several falls, he broke his hip and never recovered. Mom and Angie had continued to care for him in Dad's absence. It was difficult being so far away and not being able to return for for his funeral. Our pastor, Jeff, lost his grandfather just a few hours before Papa died. We both share the legacy and influence of Godly parents and grandparents. Mom sent me a large envelope filled with pictures of my Daddy's family. It is hard to believe an era has come to an end. I have lost my last two grandparents since I have been in Wyoming. I have many fond memories of spending time with Mema and Papa in Fitzgerald, GA. Rides from Moultrie to Fitzgerald in the Walker Tire and Battery Company Truck he drove. Long before seat belts, I would play in the massive floorboard, barely tall enough to peak over the dashboard. He would treat me to a Coca-Cola with salted peanuts poured into the dark, fizzy syrup. The same truck would deliver watermelons, sugar cane, and other items he had been given en route. He always carried a brown leather satchel when his work required an over night stay. My first bicycle appeared from the back of his truck. We took many walks to the nearby school yard to play or spent time on the swing strung in an ancient oak tree. We played on their screened in porch. A couple of summers we attended Vacation Bible School at Arbor Baptist Church, where he was a deacon , choir member, and Sunday School teacher. Dinner on the grounds were a feast to behold. Hot summer afternoons were spent at Lake B, the local swimming pool, building towers out of inner tubes and finding relief in the cool waters. He and Mema would watch patiently from an old wooden swing. He was fond of crackers and peanut butter. As I grew, I surpassed his petite frame, but I was never too big for him to sing "I love you a Bushel and a Peck and a hug around the neck". I was always intrigued by his 9.5 fingers--he lost part of a finger in an accident many years before. In my 42 years, there are few people who exemplified a Christian man more than my Papa. I am thankful a part of him will always live in me. Dylan reminds me when I am sad, "Don't cry Mommy. Granddaddy and Papa are in heaven and we will see them again one day."
Below is one of my favorite pictures of Papa with his brand new great-grandchildren. It was taken at a family reunion in Albany, GA. I believe Clara was less than a month old, while Dylan had been with us about 2 months and was about 14 months old. This is how I choose to remember him.