Happy Birthday, Papaw

     My grandfather passed away early Monday morning.  We knew it was coming, he was ready to go, and we got to say our goodbyes.  Today would be his 93rd birthday.

     He did some incredible things in his life, although he would never talk about it.  He was born in 1919, right after World War I, and spent his childhood on a farm in the middle of the Great Depression.  He was in the Navy in World War II.  His ship left Pearl Harbor 2 days before it was attacked, and went back 2 days after it was attacked.  He served as Honor Guard for President Roosevelt.  He spent many years stationed on the USS Indianapolis, the ship that carried the atomic bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima.  He survived two attacks from Japanese kamakazes. He was in Tokyo Bay and watched the signing of the Japanese surrender to end the war. The things that he saw and did in his life are incredible, things that are a huge part of our history.  Although my grandfather was a man of few words and more than likely would not talk about it, I wish I had spent more time asking about his life.  I have not only thought a lot about him this week, but about how sad I am that his generation is dying.  When I see a man about his age, I just want to soak up everything they have to say.  

     Memories of Papaw:  One Christmas he made me a little desk for my room, and I remember thinking how special it was that my papaw could make things like that.  I remember how organized his tools in his garage were-how organized all his stuff was for that matter.  I remember him mowing his yard, hanging up Christmas lights, climbing on ladders, and raking leaves well into his 80's and 90's.  I remember making vanilla snow ice cream the few times it snowed in Sherman.  On my wedding day he told me that I was the second most beautiful bride he had ever seen (second only to my mother).  I remember him still trying to learn how to tie a necktie at the age of 92 and how handsome he looked in suits.  I remember him having a passionate love/hate relationship with the Texas Rangers and Dallas Cowboys.  He was dedicated and watched every game, but often wondered aloud "how they were going to manage to lose this time."  I remember us trying to figure out together how to put in a new vacuum cleaner bag. It was a couple of weeks after my grandmother died-he never had to do it before, that was her job!  I remember him sneaking a Snickers bar every now and then, and I will never see a bag of Frito's BBQ chips without thinking of him.  When I was pregnant with Henry, he would always tell me and Sam "best of luck to ya."  He told me that he thought Sam was "a fine young man."  I remember a picture of him sitting on the couch with his arm around my grandmother.  I will forever remember Papaw's best friend saluting him as Taps was played at his funeral.  He did not talk about how he felt, he showed you.  He did things not for recognition, but because they just needed to be done-and he did it the right way.  

    My most precious memory was made on Saturday.  He had been asking to see Henry ever since Henry was born.  We finally made it to Sherman Saturday.  Papaw was not in good shape.  He could barely hold his eyes open, had lost lots of weight, and could not communicate much.  But when we came in with Henry, he held his arms out and said, "Baby."  My mom held Henry in his arms for a few moments.  I know Henry will not remember this, but we have this picture to remember.  

We had planned on getting him a cake and a couple of cards for his birthday.  I imagine he prefers spending his birthday with my grandmother in heaven today.  Happy Birthday, Papaw!