The Man I Love

My husband and I have an anniversary of sorts coming up in the next few days. An anniversary of when we first met - 25 years ago.  "We" are now older than he was when we got married.

Sometimes I wonder where the man I met back then went.  Not that I don't love the one I'm married to now, but the one I first met and fell in love with was such a different man.  First of all he was 19 - I was 30 - and he was a rebel of many causes.  He came with a heavy metal presence - long hair, torn jeans, leather jacket.  To him the outdoors was a place between the house and the car.  He didn't have a job - and his mother told me he would never work.  He didn't have a car and the extent of his knowledge of car maintenance was putting gas in the tank.  He had dropped out of high school and didn't have any cares. But most of all he was cool.  Fonzie could have taken cool lessons from him.  Nothing ruffled that cool.  He was the leader of the pack. The James Dean of the 1990's.

He took some classes and earned his GED.  He got a job. He cut his hair - a little. He stole my heart.  We got married, bought a house, and had a baby.  He has changed jobs often and every job was a career change. He has worked two and three jobs at a time, but he's always had a job.  He is a craftsman of many trades - HVAC, construction, finish carpentry, roofing, sheet metal, electrical - but he always longed for more.

Years have passed.  His hair is not long anymore - but it's longer than most.  His favorite dress is camo, but he also wears khaki's and a dress shirt.  The heavy metal has softened to rock and roll, with some country rolled in.  He has graduated from college with a Bachelors in Social Work and he's planning to go back for a masters.  He still does all his old trades on the side too. He has kept our vehicles running for the past 25 years - changed motors and transmissions, as well as the more common fuel pumps, water pumps, etc. He lives to hunt and spend time in the outdoors.  He loves to camp and spent his university years studying in a hunting blind (where the deer were very safe, because there was more studying than hunting going on).

But there have been other changes too.  He is active in church and doesn't hesitate to tell people who are having hard times that they need to go to church in order to turn their lives around.  He became a father to his step-daughter; he taught her to drive a mere eight years after he learned himself, he screened her dates, he was there for her high school and college graduations.  He walked her down the aisle. He was there for her when her babies were born, very much the proud grandpa.   He has raised a son from the toddler who never stopped moving, to the teenager who wouldn't get off the couch, to a young man who has also graduated from college and is starting his own life, but is still happy to hang out with dad.  He is a wonderful grandfather.  "Pappaw" can do anything and his 5- and 9-year-old princesses are even willing to go hunting with him.

He is the light of my life. He supports my dreams and he works hard to make a better life for us. He puts with all the crazy that surrounds us.  He is more than the man I thought he would be way back then.  He is still cool, but it's an older, wiser cool. James Bond cool.

Yes, he is totally a different man today.  But all that means is that I love him even more.

Grief

Yesterday I told you about my friend, Diesel. Today I want to tell you about Diesel's friends. I am totally amazed and blown away by these kids. For the most part Diesel hung out with 18-21 year olds. Kids who have never had to experience anything like this before. I heard someone say yesterday that these children don't know how to grieve so that's why they are doing "strange" things. I say, adults needs to step back and learn from what these "children" are doing.

Car window paint is the rage of the day. Messages to Diesel adorn every window. They tell the world they are proud to be Diesel's friend, they love him and they miss him. The colors are loud - they are shouting their loss to the world - but the paint is temporary, and so is their pain. They know that as the rain washes the paint away, their pain will diminish also.

They also are getting stickers made - In Loving Memory - that will be more permanent; a lasting tribute to their friend, Diesel. Because he will always be in their hearts and minds. The pall bearers and friends will wear t-shirts to the funeral with a photo of Diesel's truck and messages on the back. "Throttle Jockey" was one of Diesel's stickers on his truck and now it adorns several t-shirts. "One Shot, One Kill!...Git U Sum" was another Diesel trademark. They wear these shirts to proudly proclaim their love for their friend.

There is also a little vengeance on their minds. The tree that Diesel hit is now logs headed for a bonfire that will be held to say goodbye this weekend. While it may seem a loss of a good tree, these kids were amazed and the amount of nails, old crosses, and ribbons they found while cutting the tree. Yes, it has been stopping cars and lives since I was a child. Now, at least a car will have a clear shot to an open field if they miss this curve.

Some have learned that words spoken in anger or spite sometimes can't be taken back. Petty disputes can last forever and aren't really worth it. A true friend loves you to the moon and back.

They are planning to give a memorial tree to Diesel's grandparents. They are organizing food for after the service. They are investigating options for Diesel's truck. They really want to repair it and then give it back to the grandparents so they can keep it or sell it. However, if it is beyond repair, then they know the value of the parts and will help the family make sure they get what it is worth. They have already stopped some of the parts from disappearing and others that were gone have been returned.

Yes, these kids are grieving and hurting. But they are wearing that grief proudly and openly. Time will ease their pain and their lives will go on. Each one with a touch of Diesel.

PS. Being kids, they have been forbidden from 'hanging out' at the majority of places in our town. However, the local Steak and Shake has been very hospitable, giving them a place to park their trucks, rev their engines (within reason), and bond together. Managers and waitresses were at the hospital and are watching over these kids as they work through their grief. I want to thank them and let them how much I appreciate their kindness.

Daddy's Hands

I love hands. Hands are always the first thing I notice about people.

I remember my grandfather's hands. They were always tanned from working outside and usually had a cut or two on them. He had long, thin fingers that could do any job. My grandfather was a very hard worker who used his hands to help many people - mostly people who just needed a hand up. And they always had time to hug a grandchild.

My Dad's hands are thick with stubby fingers. They have worked on farms for many years. Even his "regular" jobs involved farmers. He spent 8 years in Brazil teaching them to grow burley tobacco. When he got back to Kentucky he sold insurance mostly to farmers and he worked our farm between sales. I remember Daddy's trembling hands when my grandfather died. I remember Daddy's trembling hands holding my daughter for the first time.

My husband's hands are slim and strong with more than one callus. They've been mashed, cut, and bruised over the years, but they were always ready to reach out to his children. They're very soft as they hold his grandchildren and always ready to pick a flower or build a playhouse.

A friend of mine lost her father this week. It was a sudden and tragic accident that makes the loss that much quicker and painful. There was no time for good-bye. Right now there is hurt and loss, but there is still the memory how much love was in daddy's hands.