I can’t talk about Peenie for much longer without talking
about Paw. I haven’t written about him in these past five entries because…well,
it’s hard to. He hasn’t been gone very long, and Peenie and I sometimes forget.
We forget because it feels like he’s still with us--there are pieces of his
life strewn all about the house. The clothes and shoes in his closet. Shaving
cream in the bathroom. His desk. The bench in the backyard where he used to sit
and look out over his land. His old tractor. All of his pear and fig trees.
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Last night I was in the basement putting on my tennis shoes
before my run. As I tied them, I sat at the red picnic table where he read the paper
every day. Suddenly conscious of where I was, I paused and began to look
around. I saw cans of pear and fig preserves from last year. Old tools. His hats.
Some of his shirts still hanging near the wash. But, even further than all of
that…the walls, the floors, the design of the house, the brick that he selected…we
live in a house that Paw built. It’s like even though he’s gone, he’s still shielding
us from the storms.
Paw passed away in July, due to complications from a stroke.
Thankfully, the stroke occurred at home on a Sunday morning. He and Peenie had
just eaten breakfast together. He was not on his tractor, he was not in his
car, he was not out in the yard where she couldn’t get to him. She was right
at his side. And they spent his last fully conscious moments together--husband
and wife of 69 years. For this, I and my family are so incredibly grateful.
I wish all of you could know what an incredible man my Paw
was, but I don’t think I’ll ever have the words to perfectly describe the man I knew. The closest I’ve come to capturing his essence is a
poem I wrote for his funeral:
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A Paw is a wonderful thing.
He is the load-bearer of our
animal called family. And with worn, weathered, heart-shaped pads he cushions
our steps.
He is our forepaw, the member in front. He goes before us;
the first to feel pain or pleasure. He knows what is good and what is not. And
so he teaches us to tread on Firm Foundations and Solid Rock, and to avoid the
sinking sand.
He is our provider and protector. From him come sharp and
fierce claws of purpose. Claws which are forever in use for our survival, our
honor, and for the glory of our Creator.
He is our comforter, the one who envelops our troubles with
his warm mit of wisdom. With soothing touch, he quiets our minds and points us
to the Truth.
He is our feeder. He supplies us with the eternal meat of
the Scriptures and encourages us to hunt the knowledge of them so that we may
never go hungry.
He is our Paw. He bears the load, teaches us, provides for
us, protects us, comforts us, advises us, and feeds us. Our Paw. And he goes
before us still. Even now, he has touched down on golden streets where, in just
a few short moments, we will join him again.
There, in the place where there are no heavy loads, no pain,
no sinking sand, no need for protection, no troubles, and no hunger, we'll be
together again in the company of the Greatest of all Paws, the Creator of
Paws--the One who blessed us with our Paw. And there, our steps will be
cushioned forever.
A Paw is a wonderful thing.
Needs no caption.
Well said, Katy.
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