Extraordinary Men in My Life -- Part II

Several weeks ago I wrote about some pretty extraordinary men in my life, and I promised the second part of that was coming up. Life got busy, holidays were here, and I just haven't gotten around to it. The first post was made up of men who still impact my life today. Part II will focus on extraordinary men who are no longer around in life, but will never be forgotten.

Pigo
Pigo is what we all called Mama's daddy. What a special man Pigo was. As the oldest grandchild, I was given the honor of naming him. What was meant to be Grandpa came out as "Pigo," and it stuck! EVERYBODY called him Pigo-- he was Pigo to the grandchildren and great-grandchildren; he was Pigo to the in-laws; he was Brother Pigo at church; he was Mr. Pigo in the community. He was not a man without flaws, but he was a perfect Pigo. He was creative and artistic. He was a man who had a vision and kept after it when no one else understood it. He encouraged my creative side, loved the healthiness of our family, worked hard, and adored Granny. He was as unique as the name he loved. It is a testament to his influence that my grandchildren, who were born after Pigo died, know of him and about him and mention him in conversations. A few weeks before he died, we had a long talk -- he was missing Granny and I was visiting him. Someday I'm going to write all he told me about his children and love for them and their spouses and families. I think they would be honored. After his stroke, I was sitting with him in the hospital and as far as I know, heard his last words: "I need some water" and, after that, "Don't worry; they're all around me." I'm sure they were--the angels, that is.

PawPaw
PawPaw was Daddy's daddy, and there has never been a harder working man or one more dedicated to his life work. I cannot say that he was the fun-loving, creative man Pigo was, but he was not any less important in my life. He went to bed early and rose early (I'm talking 6:30 P.M. and 2:30 A.M. here, people). It was beyond his understanding how people could sleep and vacation their lives away. When I was pregnant with Lauren, there came a time when sleep was impossible. I'll never forget how impressed he was when he drove by our house at 3:00 in the morning and saw me with lights on, working in the kitchen. I was the golden child for a little while! After that, I left a light on over the sink so I wouldn't disappoint him. I remember that on Christmas day he always had a special gift for us. We lined up to se him one-by-one to get our special envelope. I remember feeling soooo important! I also remember the day when he was at our house and I told him that someone had asked me if I could do something. He said, "When people ask if you can do something, tell them 'Yes,' and go learn how to do it." It's a thing I still try to do. He always said he never got old enough that he had nothing to do but sit on the porch and wave at passersby, and he didn't. Mama, who was with him in the last days of his sickness, said he opened his eyes once and said, "It sure don't take long to get old." I'm glad the bulk of my memories are of his stronger self. He would have wanted it that way.

Uncle Robert 
Uncle Robert was the preacher at our church for a time, and proof that God works miracles. He was absolutely nowhere near being a Christian before his salvation and call to preach. It just all happened at once. Over the years, I've learned many things about him that make him even more admirable: he was the only son and took over the earning of money for his family after his father died--I think PawPaw told me Uncle Robert was 9 years old. He struggled with alcohol and cigarettes until his salvation, and then laid both down. He nurtured and cared for my entire family when PawPaw became sick--now we know that he had the cancer that killed him even then. In the hospital, while in terrible pain and being allowed to drink only one ounce of water at a time, he never asked why; instead, he had Aunt Priscilla to read the Bible aloud to him, requesting certain passages from memory. In his greatest misery, he thought of others and wanted to keep them from sorrow as much as he could. When I was a very young Christian, I used to badger him with question after question. The range of my curiousity was limitless: would our pets go to Heaven, would I know Noah, how close to God could my house be...and on and on. Uncle Robert never tired of helping me, but I'll never forget the day he said, "Maybe you should write all these questions down and then mark them out when you know the answer or they don't matter any more." I did...and all of them have been marked out, mostly because they don't matter anymore. How wise he was! He was an extraordinary many, and he left an extraordinary mark on my life.

Robert
Robert, our youngest son, lived to be only 21, but what a man he had grown to be. One would think that as the baby of the family he would have matured more slowly, been more babied, acted more spoiled. But he didn't. Now don't get me wrong--he was not without his flaws either. He set the pasture on fire, ran away when he was 5, covered his room in baby powder, "washed" all the towels and bathcloths in the bathtub, hid in the dishwasher, threw the cat behind the washing machine, had a dream of playing basketball at a higher level, studied precalculus while watching basketball on television, and became a husband and a father right out of high school. I worried so much because I knew that scientific research showed that a man's brain wasn't capable of thinking long-term until he is 25. Robert must have been a rarity. After his sudden and premature death in a car accident, more and more information became available to show that he was a man among men. He was an amazing father and son; he kept a full scholarship and 3.99 GPA even with a family of his own and working full time--well, if you can call 70 hours a week full time; at 21 he was made supervisor of an entire division of the company we worked for; he prepared for his family to be taken care of in case something happened to him as if he were much, much older. He taught me that rules and statistics don't apply to everyone--in fact, they don't apply to anyone. Each person makes his own choices, determines how he will handle his own obstacles, and makes his own name despite and in spite of what others may think or what has been published. One of my friends once told me that at his funeral all she could think of was the song "Standing on Holy Ground." What a terrific impact his young life made. Being his mother, knowing him, and learning so much about him after his life ended has taught me so much about the children I teach and their possibilites. He was an extraordinary man, even if he was my little boy.

How blessed I am to have had the terrific influence of these men in my life. God has richly blessed me -- truly I believe that every fiber of my life has been carefully woven by a wise and loving heavenly father. There have been times...still are times...will be more times...that some of that weaving may seem flawed, a thread out of place, a color not just right. I am not ashamed to say that had God consulted me on the future concerning any of my extraordinary men--especially Robert-- I would unashamedly have tried to get him to see things my way. And yet I know from God's perspective (and only he knows the vision of the finished tapestry) the weaving is perfect and with great purpose. And so I am left with a choice: I can wallow in sorrow for what I -- we -- have lost, or I can celebrate the beauty of the life God has given me, including time with these great men. I choose the latter. Can you blame me?