I have started this thread about 5 times now and I've deleted it each time. I even tried to skip it and tell some good news about Noah but couldn't bring myself to move on until I said my piece/peace here.
My Papaw died last week. There I've said it. It wasn't as poetic as I would have liked but I really am having a hard time expressing this. You see this isn't just the end of the road for an amazing man but its the end of the most stable thing I've ever known in my life. Through everything I've ever seen, done, or experienced and everywhere I've lived, visited, or flown over I could always find Mamaw and Papaw at their house on the highway. After life's mistakes, hiccups, and heartaches, I could always find solace in their home and know the meaning of love and therefore life.
In my line of work I've seen more than my share of young life buried and burdened. When it became too much for me I would always call Mamaw and tell her what was going on. She'd always just ask the kid's name and then she'd say "We'll pray." When she spoke of prayer she always referred to the plural 'we' because they always prayed together. I think that is the most startling difference between them and every other couple I've ever known. They never hid their prayer. They always prayed aloud. They always prayed together. I know I share this memory with all the other grandchildren. You would spend the night with Mamaw and Papaw and as you lay there in the bed across from their room you would hear them start to pray. I do not know if they were sitting beside each other or if they were kneeling, but I do know everyone they loved was mentioned by name. It may seem strange but they had a symbiotic language where they both prayed at the same time either repeating the other's request for God or adding details of the person's specific need. They are the only people I've ever known who prayed like this and they are also the only people I've known who were married as long as they were. I do not believe that is a coincidence.
My Papaw was a quiet man. He spoke plenty but he never filled a room with the sound of his voice just to hear his voice. Maybe it was because he had 4 daughters that I'm sure as they grew up spoke plenty. Years later it could have been because all his grandchildren developed the ability to 'gab' from their mother's. Jenna refers to this as my ability to 'talk to a wall.' I also blame my bad habit of interrupting people on eating dinner at Mamaw and Papaw's with the whole family there. You see there were no breaks in the conversation so you had to interrupt or never be heard. Papaw would always just sit there at the table and pretend he wasn't listening. You knew he was pretending because once in a blue moon somebody would say something to spark his interest and then he'd speak up. Of course, it was when his voice spoke up that everyone else was quiet and listened and they never interrupted. This was repeated if the conversation were in the den where the TV was located. He'd sit in his recliner and watch TV while everyone around him 'gabbed.' The volume of the TV was like a barometer of his interest in your conversation. If he was interested in what you were saying then he'd turn the TV down, if he wasn't then the volume would go up to drown you out. The whole time his eyes never left the TV. I strayed from my point a little, because I was trying to tell you that I never heard my Papaw yell. I saw him annoyed and even angry a few times, but I never heard him actually yell at anyone. That's remarkable.
I also remember his wallet growing up. That's a weird thing to remember but let me explain. I grew up thinking my Papaw was a wealthy man because when he pulled out his wallet to pay for something it was literally filled with money. It honestly wouldn't close at times. There had to be several hundred dollars in cash in his wallet at any time. When I was pretty grown (college or so) I made a comment about this to my sister. She looked at me like I had two heads. You see my Papaw sold insurance and he sold a lot of insurance in the African-American community. He began doing this back when my mom and her sisters were little. This was a time in America where African-Americans couldn't get bank accounts so he would go 'collectin' and take cash payments from them and then when their premiums were due he would pay their premium for them. Of course, it all made sense to me after my sister explained this to me. I remember growing up we'd drive through African-American neighborhoods looking for catalpa worms or dropping off extra tomatoes from his garden and everyone we saw would come out of their homes to speak with "Mr. Rotton." I never thought it was odd that so many black people both knew and genuinely loved my Papaw. I guess looking back that would have been odd in 1970's America. Not two weeks ago, Papaw's hospice nurse was talking to my Mamaw and they were talking about Papaw's life. When the combination of Reliable Life and an old picture sparked her memory and she figured out who he was and couldn't believe it. She remembered Papaw (she called him 'Mr. Ro') coming to see her grandfather when she was little and how he always had candy and pencils for the children while they talked. In hindsight it sounds just like him to do something for people when plenty of his peers (not to mention society) wouldn't and it seems even more like him that I never heard the story from his own mouth.
He wasn't much for giving advice or telling you what you should do. No one else in the family ever picked up that skill since we all have an opinion and are just waiting for an opportunity to share :) The only thing in my life I ever did that he spoke up about was breaking up with my high school girlfriend. Of course, he even did this in his own way. For several years after the event, he would still pull me aside after dinner and say "I saw -----'s mother the other day at the drugstore. She said ----- is comin' home this weekend. Maybe you should give her a call." I'd remind him that I had a girlfriend and she had a boyfriend and it had been 5 years since our breakup and he'd say "I'm just sayin." I knew after I had met Jenna and he never mentioned ----- again that he approved of Jenna. It's a quirky way of knowing but I knew nonetheless.
I feel like I'm just rambling and honestly I could tell little stories about him and his personality all day because he's just on my mind all the time now. Thinking on his life makes me wonder what my legacy I leave to this world will be. I hope it is half the legacy Papaw leaves behind. I'll never go fishing, pass a catalpa tree, or even go to church without thinking about him and getting a chuckle. He lived a full, wonderful life that we should all strive to attain. There is much to celebrate about his life and his passing, but I still find some selfish tragedy in his death. I think its tragic that Noah will grow up in a world where he doesn't have vivid memories and stories of his Papaw Rotton. We'll all just have to pitch in and make sure he knows them just the same.
My Papaw died last week. There I've said it. It wasn't as poetic as I would have liked but I really am having a hard time expressing this. You see this isn't just the end of the road for an amazing man but its the end of the most stable thing I've ever known in my life. Through everything I've ever seen, done, or experienced and everywhere I've lived, visited, or flown over I could always find Mamaw and Papaw at their house on the highway. After life's mistakes, hiccups, and heartaches, I could always find solace in their home and know the meaning of love and therefore life.
In my line of work I've seen more than my share of young life buried and burdened. When it became too much for me I would always call Mamaw and tell her what was going on. She'd always just ask the kid's name and then she'd say "We'll pray." When she spoke of prayer she always referred to the plural 'we' because they always prayed together. I think that is the most startling difference between them and every other couple I've ever known. They never hid their prayer. They always prayed aloud. They always prayed together. I know I share this memory with all the other grandchildren. You would spend the night with Mamaw and Papaw and as you lay there in the bed across from their room you would hear them start to pray. I do not know if they were sitting beside each other or if they were kneeling, but I do know everyone they loved was mentioned by name. It may seem strange but they had a symbiotic language where they both prayed at the same time either repeating the other's request for God or adding details of the person's specific need. They are the only people I've ever known who prayed like this and they are also the only people I've known who were married as long as they were. I do not believe that is a coincidence.
My Papaw was a quiet man. He spoke plenty but he never filled a room with the sound of his voice just to hear his voice. Maybe it was because he had 4 daughters that I'm sure as they grew up spoke plenty. Years later it could have been because all his grandchildren developed the ability to 'gab' from their mother's. Jenna refers to this as my ability to 'talk to a wall.' I also blame my bad habit of interrupting people on eating dinner at Mamaw and Papaw's with the whole family there. You see there were no breaks in the conversation so you had to interrupt or never be heard. Papaw would always just sit there at the table and pretend he wasn't listening. You knew he was pretending because once in a blue moon somebody would say something to spark his interest and then he'd speak up. Of course, it was when his voice spoke up that everyone else was quiet and listened and they never interrupted. This was repeated if the conversation were in the den where the TV was located. He'd sit in his recliner and watch TV while everyone around him 'gabbed.' The volume of the TV was like a barometer of his interest in your conversation. If he was interested in what you were saying then he'd turn the TV down, if he wasn't then the volume would go up to drown you out. The whole time his eyes never left the TV. I strayed from my point a little, because I was trying to tell you that I never heard my Papaw yell. I saw him annoyed and even angry a few times, but I never heard him actually yell at anyone. That's remarkable.
I also remember his wallet growing up. That's a weird thing to remember but let me explain. I grew up thinking my Papaw was a wealthy man because when he pulled out his wallet to pay for something it was literally filled with money. It honestly wouldn't close at times. There had to be several hundred dollars in cash in his wallet at any time. When I was pretty grown (college or so) I made a comment about this to my sister. She looked at me like I had two heads. You see my Papaw sold insurance and he sold a lot of insurance in the African-American community. He began doing this back when my mom and her sisters were little. This was a time in America where African-Americans couldn't get bank accounts so he would go 'collectin' and take cash payments from them and then when their premiums were due he would pay their premium for them. Of course, it all made sense to me after my sister explained this to me. I remember growing up we'd drive through African-American neighborhoods looking for catalpa worms or dropping off extra tomatoes from his garden and everyone we saw would come out of their homes to speak with "Mr. Rotton." I never thought it was odd that so many black people both knew and genuinely loved my Papaw. I guess looking back that would have been odd in 1970's America. Not two weeks ago, Papaw's hospice nurse was talking to my Mamaw and they were talking about Papaw's life. When the combination of Reliable Life and an old picture sparked her memory and she figured out who he was and couldn't believe it. She remembered Papaw (she called him 'Mr. Ro') coming to see her grandfather when she was little and how he always had candy and pencils for the children while they talked. In hindsight it sounds just like him to do something for people when plenty of his peers (not to mention society) wouldn't and it seems even more like him that I never heard the story from his own mouth.
He wasn't much for giving advice or telling you what you should do. No one else in the family ever picked up that skill since we all have an opinion and are just waiting for an opportunity to share :) The only thing in my life I ever did that he spoke up about was breaking up with my high school girlfriend. Of course, he even did this in his own way. For several years after the event, he would still pull me aside after dinner and say "I saw -----'s mother the other day at the drugstore. She said ----- is comin' home this weekend. Maybe you should give her a call." I'd remind him that I had a girlfriend and she had a boyfriend and it had been 5 years since our breakup and he'd say "I'm just sayin." I knew after I had met Jenna and he never mentioned ----- again that he approved of Jenna. It's a quirky way of knowing but I knew nonetheless.
I feel like I'm just rambling and honestly I could tell little stories about him and his personality all day because he's just on my mind all the time now. Thinking on his life makes me wonder what my legacy I leave to this world will be. I hope it is half the legacy Papaw leaves behind. I'll never go fishing, pass a catalpa tree, or even go to church without thinking about him and getting a chuckle. He lived a full, wonderful life that we should all strive to attain. There is much to celebrate about his life and his passing, but I still find some selfish tragedy in his death. I think its tragic that Noah will grow up in a world where he doesn't have vivid memories and stories of his Papaw Rotton. We'll all just have to pitch in and make sure he knows them just the same.
