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| General Jackson Carnes |
There has always been a small, unofficial tradition that accompanied visits to my grandparents' home. Whenever it was time to leave, generally after many, many false starts that resulted in visiting just a little longer, they would walk us out, give one last round of good bye hugs and kisses, and then they would stand in the drive way, smiling and waving until our car was out of sight.
I have noticed this tradition spill over into visits with my parents. And on those rare but wonderful mornings where Clay and I are able to steal a little porch time together before he heads out to work, I find myself remaining on the porch, where I see him off in much the same way...even when he is past the point of seeing me, I stand waving (or flicking the porch light), watching until he fades from view.
It is really a way of saying "I love you so, I hate to see you go..."
During my grandfather's funeral, I remarked to a few people that I saw a similarity in the way we had been asked to say farewell to him. Disease had demanded we all watch him slowly disappear, his burial was that final moment of invisibility.
Over the last handful of years the disease that started out by slowly robbing from him one word or memory at a time began to rapidly snatch armloads without apology. He was left bankrupt of speech, mobility and a million other little things that you take for granted as permanent fixtures until they turn up missing, like eye twinkles.
By the time he left us completely last week, all that remained was a frail human frame and an ironclad legacy.
Much like standing in the driveway waving and waving and waving~ over the last few years we have been quietly waving and waving and waving goodbye- until we just couldn't see him anymore.
~*~
Some of us had conversations or interactions with Grandpa before the diagnosis was made that only later could we look back on as evidence of change.
"I really should be going now"
And then there was the diagnosis - but it had been declared over a strong and resilient old man. Nothing changed drastically at first. So, we poured another cup of coffee and enjoyed our visiting a little longer.
- New and never before heard stories.
- Really, really listening to the old ones.
- Thinking of questions we may someday want answered.
"I've got to be going now... for real this time."
Then, the changes did happen~a little too fast. Realization of the "Impending Irreversible" setting in as if he stood, jangling his keys and walking towards the door.
- Confused words.
- Wrong names and mistaken identities
- Shuffle, Shuffle, Step.
"It's getting late, best hit the road before it gets dark."
With a sudden slam, like a car door, a shift into Reverse.
- A phone call about a fall.
- His broken neck nailing the basement shut
- Hospital Waiting Room Reunions
"It was good to see you all- and all together, too!"
And then, it was all downhill. Time spent waving, and waving and waiting.
- A sky blue hearse.
- A life commemorated in slideshow.
- Family gathered once more from all four corners.
"I'll see you all again real soon !"
I believe God turned that slow dissolve into a mercy, allowing us to come gently to a place in time where *General Jackson Carnes no longer lives here on this old, fallen Earth.
We each gleaned a spirit of wanderlust and adventure from GJC... and as a result, we all live, well, EVERYWHERE, really. Time afforded us all the opportunity to make necessary travel plans, to sit at his side and say good bye in our own special ways.
We are a large family, so this was no small mercy. Everyone was afforded ample time for a visit of their own. To obtain any needed closure or counsel.
Time also afforded us many lessons: lessons about what a life well-used looks like, lessons about dying gracefully and kindness and the wealth of leaving a truly good legacy. We learned lessons about family and faith and service to one another, about what it means to touch lives. We all learned so much from this one life... and from the way this one life ended.
He was a teachable man.
He was also a willing teacher.
~*~
During a visit before his decline in communication, Grandpaw shared a story that I had never heard before. As he told the story, it was the first time in my life hearing that he ever drank anything harder than Apple Cider Vinegar.
Grandpaw was very careful with stories. He knew their powerful potential and the way they can be twisted into something other than what was intended. He never wanted us to use stories of his past to justify wrong choices for our present; he had lived a pretty adventurous life.
There were many stories that we were not permitted to hear because he loved us; he wanted to protect from inspiring folly.
And yet, when one of us had already waded into folly neck deep, those same stories were brought out of the vault, out of the self same love and protection. He would share his own journey humbly, not glorifying the folly, instead encouraging that 'the road is never to narrow to turn around'.
As he shared with us that story, about putting an emptied whiskey bottle up on the mantle piece in his home- out of resolve **'no longer to linger' , he solidified for me that the redemption he had found in Christ was worth full abandonment of all the folly he had ever found before. He shared the story from that same resolved place where he drew the line all those decades ago. I could see for myself that he had never recanted. He never went back for a new bottle. He didn't make excuses. He was well studied in the Scriptures and though he could have easily built an argument on Christian liberty, he didn't look for loopholes... for him, what he found in Christ quenched every kind of thirst.
He loved us and wanted the best for each of us. He believed the best we could do was to know Christ.
Grandpaw's life affirmed that desire and demonstrated Christ's love- in word & deed.
Regardless of how grievous our mistakes, or how strongly he disagreed with some path or choice we may have made, he continued to love us, to be kind. He demonstrated the willingness to help, to come alongside, to simply be present.
Because his life directly informed mine, I know that he lived his life for the very prize of dying. I know that there was no greater joy than for this man to hear his children are walking in truth.
I am the granddaughter of General Jackson Carnes. A man who no longer lives on this earth but who lived out his faith and love for Christ in such a way that I know I will see him again.
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