In Memorium
Today is the 28th anniversary of my dad’s passing. We southerners use a lot of euphemisms. We seldom use words like died. We speak of going on to your reward, passing over to the other side or the smart mouth version, kicking the bucket. I write about my daddy a lot. He remains my primary role model.
Central Virginia is gradually reopening. Slow and safe are the by words. We’re following the advice of the PBS News Hour.
1. Wash your hands.
2. Keep your distance.
3. Stay home if you’re sick.
4. Wear a mask in public.
The doctor who gave this advice said none of these are 100% effective by themselves, but collectively they are powerful. He also said, if 60% of us do our part and abide by these guidelines, we should stop the virus’ spread.
Ben Franklin wrote, “The good men do separately, is small compared with what they may do collectively.”
None of us wants to get sick. And I can’t imagine any of us wants to be the cause of someone else becoming ill or heaven forbid dying.
In ancient Rome the highest compliment was to call someone a “Citizen”. And the worst insult was to call someone an “Idiot”. An Idiot was someone who put their personal interests above the needs of the community.
So, let me encourage you to play well with others during this trying period. After all we can all insist upon our individual right to run with scissors, later.
In Memorium
I’m one of those damned fools who has always had to touch the stove. I’m one of the ones who has rushed in where angels feared to tread. For decades, I seldom hesitated to metaphorically “hang ten”.
Consequently, my body, mind and soul bear the scars of having been rode hard and put away wet, way too many times.
This began to change May 19, 1992. Around 3:00 AM that night, my mom called to say she had called the ambulance. I knew the drill. I got up, got dressed and minutes later I had driven the five blocks to their house. The ambulance was there and they were already loading daddy.
I said, “We’ll meet you there.” And then I was told we were going to Retreat Hospital, St. Mary’s ER was full. Daddy had been at St. Mary’s that previous evening. They had sent him home.
We sat in the waiting room and at 7:30 they came out. I expected to be told we could go back and see him. This was his 8th heart attack since 1974.
We’d been through this before. Daddy would come in for a tune-up, they’d balance his electrolytes and after two weeks of his entertaining the staff, he’d come home.
Not so this time. The doctor said he was dead. I don’t remember much after that. My mom said I became hysterical. She thought they were going to have to sedate me. I remember calling my oldest cousin, Billy, and explaining that daddy was gone. I asked him would he notify everyone, as I didn’t have it in me.
By that afternoon, I was fine. I took Momma to Bliley’s and we arranged the funeral service. Daddy had decided he wanted to be cremated, but Momma wanted a traditional viewing, so we rented a coffin. I remember walking into the parlor at the funeral home. Daddy had suffered from congestive heart failure the last 7 or 8 years of his life. As a result, he retained a lot of fluid. He had blown up from a 44” chest weighing 198 pounds to a 56” chest weighing 260 pounds. I had never suffered claustrophobia before that moment, but seeing Daddy shoehorned into that coffin still haunts me.
I sat Momma down on a chesterfield where she could see the coffin and I positioned myself in the hallway, where she could see me, and I could greet the mourners, but mercifully I could not see Daddy.
The funeral was lovely. Holy Comforter was packed with those showing their respects and I was quite comfortable greeting and thanking everyone for coming. A friend later told me he was confused that day. I looked so happy.
I have no idea what I was feeling that day. I was on autopilot. I was doing what was expected of an only son. I was handling details and looking out for my momma as my daddy would have expected me to do.
What I realize now, is that was the day I began to seriously think before I leapt. That was the day I realized I no longer had a safety net.
Prior to Daddy’s passing, if I jumped a fence and drove a spike through my foot, Daddy was there to pick me up and take me the hospital. If my car broke down in the back of beyond, Daddy would somehow come find me when I didn’t show up when I was supposed to and when a business venture failed Daddy was there to talk it through and help me brainstorm how to find a stake and get back into the game.
Now, there was just me. I hadn’t built a support network. I hadn’t needed one. I’d always told myself I was the independent, rugged individualist of American mythology. It dawned on me I’d been kidding myself. I’d been a part of a team. A team of two, but a team.
As time went on, I realized I was also kidding myself that I hadn’t had a support network. Family and friends rallied around me and this was when I began to grow up.
I’d begun practicing Servant Leadership a few years earlier as result of my participation in Leadership Metro Richmond. Now, I began to recognize my dad’s legacy. I stopped “playing the role” and began to live into the role he had modeled for me.
I am now 5 years older than daddy was when he died. For 28 years I’ve been asking myself, “What would Daddy do?’ I’m in virgin territory these days. Dealing with things he never had to deal with. I’ve learned to listen before I speak. I’ve learned to look before I leap. I’ve learned to put other’s well being ahead of my own.
Frankly, the territory might not be as unknown as I think. Daddy was born, lived and died. He came into this world alone and unfortunately left it that way, but in between he lived life well. He enjoyed going to work every day and he enjoyed coming home every night. Of equal importance everyone was happy to see him show up wherever he went.
So, on this anniversary I honor his memory. I thank God for the time he lived among us. And I continue to try to fill his shoes.
In Memorium
Warren Gayle “Buddy” Turner, Sr.
July 29, 1929 – May 19, 1992
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Remember, be a good citizen. Don’t be an idiot!
1. Wash your hands.
2. Keep your distance.
3. Stay home if you’re sick.
4. Wear a mask in public.
I’d love to hear your stories.
Share with me stories that matter to you and I’ll share them with our readers.
Tell me about the people who have shaped you.
Send them to gayle@storytellerschannel.com
Til next time,
Gayle Turner
Executive Producer.