My grandmother likes to talk. A lot. So spending four hours in a car with her can be trying. She doesn't appreciate silence like i do. Her talking is understandable, though. She lives by herself and we don't see each other that often. Still, as much as i love her (and i do, dearly), there's only so much i can hear about (so-and-so's uncle's nephew who worked on the farm until he went to work at the mill...). Honestly, it can be a bit drab. But kids, here is an example of when patience pays off.
btw, we rode together in order to witness the baptism of my baby nephew, the now newly sanctified Duane Anthony Watson. And those of you who know me, i love baptisms for multiple reasons: 1. i love the Sacraments, 2. I love babies, 3. Baptism reminds the parents and godparents of their responsibilities as educators (and examples) of the faith, 4. Satan gets pwned again, 5. I love the smell of chrism, so, so much (sensory win).
Right, so
After we enjoyed a wonderful lunch, nap and cake, it was time to travel back home with bright-eyes and bushy beard.
So i turn my ears to auto-pilot for about 50 minutes until she mentions my grandfather. It's not often she talks about papa Pervis. He passed away about 17 years ago and i don't remember much of him. I just remember that he was loving, joyous, liked basketball and didn't like blue jays (they messed up his garden).
I have been around a few funerals too many over the past 8 months and so i have become fairly well versed in funeral etiquette. Mostly it's filled with accepting condolences, thanking people for paying their respects and other hum-drum distractions and hollow noises. But every now and then, someone shares a story with you on how how much the departed meant to them...and it blows you away..
and my grandmother told me a story from her husband's funeral that a young mane told her nearly 2 decades ago:
in her paraphrased words:
A week before Pervis passed away he was wrapping up some work one evening and happened upon sharing a cup of coffee with one of his younger friends (and by younger, i mean about 40). They shared some conversation about life and all that jazz and then he told me Pervis said, "you know, (guy), i'm not sure what you believe on this stuff, but i think God wants us to suffer. I don't think people really understand that now-a-days. You know, life isn't all about getting what you want all the time. I don't think that's how we're supposed to be. I think to make this life worth something we have to suffer." The young man said he never thought of it that way but Pervis made him think about it. He told me that he'd never forget what Pervis told him...a week before his death...
...and neither did my grandma. To remember something for so long says that it won't soon be forgotten. She still has coffee with the not-so-young man every now and again.
She also told me how my grandfather was lonesome for us when we lived away, how he loved us so much always and how he would always share pictures with everyone and tell his younger co-workers how great it was to be a grandpa...our grandpa.
She told me that she still thinks of papa Pervis every so often.
I do, too, grandma. I do, too.
Peace,
Daytona
