papa

Papa passed away a couple weekends ago. The trip to Oklahoma was the most difficult 4 days I think I've ever had. I think the biggest reason was seeing my family, especially Mom, so upset and I couldn't do anything to help. Apparently Papa was famous. Who knew. For a county with 2 stoplights (downtown), 1 small post office (where you only need to know a local's name and county and whatever you're mailing will get to them), 1 k-8 school building and 1 high school, and where everyone lives at least a half mile from their neighbor, the small church (14 pews) where the funeral was held was standing room only, and some people had to stand outside with the doors open. What a production, though. There was a viewing of the body and receiving of friends and family the night before (I will be cremated!). At the funeral a number of people spoke (including Mom, who by far did the best eulogy- despite there being 3 preacher who spoke- and did it without crying). People donated silk flower arrangements that covered the entire sanctuary (they even did a big arch over the casket). We had to view the body again. Then we all went to the cemetery and had a presentation of the casket and another prayer for the family. Then we all went back to the church for the reception (Dad made a slideshow on his Mac of pictures of Papa that was great). So many women cooked so much food. And so many people out there have little to nothing, but they still contributed beyond their means. And it was all because Papa did the same thing. We didn't know so much of what he did to help others because he was so humble. He was an amazing man who loved everyone and everyone loved him too.

Some great memories... we went to the barn with a milk pail and filled it with the barn kittens and Papa brought them inside to my room and I read books to them (I was only maybe 5 so I faked-read)... he taught me to ride a horse and saddled the horse for me every day so I could go ride when I visited... he let me ride in the pickup bed to go up to the mountain place or drive around the homeplace (the only times I was ever allowed to ride in a pickup bed)... he would write me letters (difficult because he was missing parts of 3 fingers on his writing/dominant hand) and include a stick of doublemint gum and 2 $1 bills... the last time I visited, he told me "never give in, never give up" and I hope to take that to heart.