Said "see ya' " to a friend...

This is one of those "just for me" posts, that will mean nothing to others.  I do these so that in the future, I can remind myself of my thoughts at the time.

On Thursday afternoon, we joined with many others in committing to the Earth our friend, Pat Nickel.  Ya' know, when you enter the funeral home, they give you a little "remembrance card."  This was on the front.

Isn't that beautiful?  It's a Thomas Kinkade painting.  Beautiful.  Anyway, the chapel at the Hill Crest Funeral Home/Cemetery in Haughton, LA was an inviting place.  I enjoyed seeing a lot of the old folks from Bossier that I had not seen in quite a while (since the last funeral I attended).  I know all those old folks, because...well...just because.

As The Mrs.sat there, visiting with The Mrs. In-law (she and Pat were fast friends), I looked toward the front where Pat's body lay in a very pretty pearly casket, and just let my memories in.  I had really only come to know Pat on a personal level over the last three years.  Oh, I knew her all of my adult life...knew who she was...but only on a "Hi!  Y'all doing okay?" level.

I really knew her husband much better.  Pat's husband, Charles Nickel was, (how should I say it) "different."  Charles was one of those guys that had a heart of gold, and very little grace for those that disagreed with him.  He was one of those guys that attended EVERY SINGLE City Council meeting, and sat right on the front row.  He, and my Father-in-law (who also attended EVERY SINGLE meeting) were there, often alone, keeping the Mayor, and City Council straight!  Charles would always be armed with proof of every point he planned to make...along with copies of it all to distribute to Council members.

I was once standing in front of a local business talking to one "at large" Councilman, when Charles came jogging by.  The Councilman said, "Andy, I'm telling you the truth.  When we're having a meeting, and can't exactly remember what happened in the past on a certain issue, we don't even ask the Secretary.  We just ask Charles.  He will quote word for word what each member had to say on the subject, and how we voted."

Charles was that kind of a guy.  In fact, he was a Republican before there were Republicans in Louisiana.  He, and a math teacher at Bossier High (along with others, I'm sure) by force of will, established a Northwest Louisiana Republican Party presence in the day when EVERYBODY was a Democrat.

He was also my "running buddy."  Back in the days when I was competing in long distance road races, so was he a "runner."  I would often run across him on the roads.  He was about 30 years my senior, but so much fun to gab with, I'd slow down my pace and run for miles with him...listening to him lambast everything liberal...in the US, the State, and the City.  Anyway...Charles died several years ago, and Pat was left to take care of her place by herself.  She did real well with it, but after a while, as her health began to fail, she needed some help.

Well,  The Mrs.In-law offered up my #3 son who was in High School as a yard-boy.  That lasted for a little while until #3 son got full-time, summer-time employment.  He loved her!  He would always come back from his job at her place just talking about what a sweet lady she was, yada yada yada...And, I later found out from Pat that she loved him, too.  (Of course, he IS one of my sons, so what's not to love?)

So, I took over the job.  And, I'll swear, it was the most fun I've ever had mowing grass.  For the first year, she was adamant!  "I do not want you to do any weed-eating, trimming, or blowing.  I just can't push the mower around the yard any more.  I want to do as much as I can, for as long as I can, so I'll handle all that."  It took her almost all week to trim with her little electric weedeater.  She would work as long as she could each day, then head back out the next day when she was feeling better.  Then, I'd come along and mow.

Lord, she was funny.  Mowing her small yard took me about 20 minutes of walking behind her self-propelled mower...but I never got away from there in less than an hour.  We would sit under the carport, or under the back patio cover and visit.  She knew my family, and The Mrs.' family well, and always wanted all the details of what was going on.  Oh man...sitting in that funeral home, did the memories ever come back!  We'd talk about her deceased husband, my kids, old times in Bossier, other folks we remembered fondly, etc.

She had the most annoying little Pomeranian.  Now, y'all know that I love dogs...but Pomeranians  kinda bug the living crud out of me.  They are yappy & way too big for their britches!  And her dog (also named "Sadie," just like my beloved, retarded yellow lab) would dang near bust a stitch when I showed up, yapping her fool head off!  But, when Pat and I would sit on the back patio after I finished, that dang canine would "clean me up."  Seriously.  She would lick every single bit of salty sweat off my legs, socks, and if I'd let her in my lap, she'd go to work on my arms.  Pat would always just apologize like crazy.  But I loved it.  Sadie was obviously a "salty dog."

The next mowing season, Pat was not in nearly as good a shape as the previous.  Her neighbor lady across the street told her that she MAY NOT run the weedeater any more after watching her collapse on the sidewalk one morning.  Pat felt just terrible, asking me if I would mind doing the whole job.  Oh man...that was heart-breaking in a way.  I knew what was ahead.  The Mrs. got involved, and would go with me each week.  She would walk behind the self-propelled mower while I ran the trimmer, and did the other stuff to keep her place looking nice.  The Mrs. would always finish way before me, and she and Pat would sit and visit.  They would just hee-haw, and have a big ol' time.

Even though Pat was over 20 years our senior, she didn't seem "old" at all.  She had a fabulous sense of humor.  I mean, it was like jack-jawing with one of your own classmates.  She could throw "funnies" at you, and when you threw one at her (sometimes not expecting her to catch the generational references), you could see those pretty eyes light up, and a big guffaw would be let loose!

Still in all, she was a prim and proper Southern Christian lady.  (I'm glad she didn't know I maintained this blog...but she never had internet anyway, and wasn't interested in computers...so I figured I was safe).

Pat never had any children of her own, but Lord she loved young people!  Pat was so proud last Summer when we told her that Phillip wouldn't be around, because he had joined the Army Reserve, and was at boot camp in Georgia...and that he had found the love of his life.

"My little Phillip?" she asked...kinda stunned that he was really a grown man.  And, she even got a tear in her eye as we told her about the wonderful young girl that #3 son had found to spend his life with.  The story behind the whole thing was just so improbable, yet so true, that it really touched her.  She was proud for him, and of him.  That's a moment I won't forget.  (But, I'm writing it down, just in case I do)

When grass cutting time came around this year, things were MUCH different.  Pat was very weak.  She would do her best to come outside to visit when we were there.  But, she had had surgery to implant a pacemaker (or something...maybe a fibrilator...I don't know...something).  She still had the "want to," but I could tell that she was about tired of it all.  Oh, we had a couple of good visits.  And, I always felt bad that she felt the need to come out and acknowledge us.  I knew by this time that she was so weak that it would have been better if we'd have just let the grass grow up, and just come inside to see her.

I've kicked myself over that.

Back to the funeral.  It was just your standard, "short and sweet" send-off.  It seems that she had a nephew who is a preacher.  And, he did sort of the standard Baptist Preacher funeral thing...read scriptures about the resurrection, said how much he loved his Aunt, and told one or two little personal stories.  It was good.

Inside that little "remembrance card" they gave us when we went in to the funeral home was this poem.

I'm gonna miss her, and I don't mind saying it! But, seeing her the last few times, I know she won't be missing me. And that's cool. That's the way it's supposed to be.

A thought came through my mind as I was listening to the two fellows that spoke at the funeral service.  As I looked around the chapel, it crossed my mind that probably 95% of the people in attendance knew Pat better than the two fellows that were conducting the service.  I'm not saying this to be critical in any way.  Heck, I'd put myself in the 5% minority, because I didn't really "know" her on a long-term personal, or spiritual level.  But, I got the feeling that the Pastor from her church, and even her nephew had not spent so much time with her, really getting to know the lady.  But that's cool, too!  I didn't either...but now wish I had.

Everybody has their own life to live.  Everyone has their own path to follow.  And, the fact that Pat asked her nephew in the week before she died to speak words at her funeral tells me something.  SHE KNEW HIM!  I will trust her discernment.

I also felt a sadness that she had no children.  Such a wonderful lady...I'm sure she would have been a Mother that any child would die for.  Then the next moment, I thought, "Thank God that there are no children here to mourn such a wonderful Momma."  Weird, huh?  

As the service ended, I began to get that ol' itchy "please do not open up the casket!!!" feeling again.  I had firmly decided in my mind that IF the funeral director came and opened up the casket, for the obligatory "walk by," I was going to bolt directly to the exit.  I know how frail she was the last time I saw her a few weeks ago.  I did not want to see that again.  (After the funeral, The Mrs. told me the same thing before I even mentioned it.  She said, "I am so glad they just let us go without viewing the body.  I was going to duck out.")

Thanks be to Jesus, the funeral director just walked to the front and gave everyone thanks for the family and dismissed us, directing us to where the burial plot was in the Hill Crest Cemetery...and that due to the heat (about 90 degrees) everyone was asked to drive their cars, and not walk.

Sounded like a good idea to me...especially with all us those old folks there.

As we circled the paths, following the procession, I realized that we were about to land very near the famed "Johnny Horton Bench" in the Hill Crest Cemetery.  Sure enough, as we approached the canopy over the grave where Pat's body will rest until the resurrection, I realized that she will be there about 30 feet from the great country musician, Johnny Horton.  As the others arrived, I stood there looking at "Johnny Horton's Bench," and realized that I was standing right on top of Johnny Horton!  If you're not familiar with Johnny Horton, I'll give you a link to his Wiki page.  On that page you'll see pictures of the bench, and his grave markers, which are interesting.  Be sure to click on the grave marker photos to see just what Johnny's wife thought of him.  Completely amateurishly bloggerly...here's the link.

I took the occasion to tip a hat for a blog bud that I know to be a Johnny Horton fan, and gave a shout-out from him.

The graveside part of the funeral service was very short.  Pat's preacher nephew read a scripture, and the pall bearers put their carnations on the casket.  The family (two brothers, and one sister, and even the nieces, nephews, and those really cute little great nieces and nephews) didn't seem overcome with grief.  That says something, in my book.  They ALL knew that it was her time, and that she is now resting easy.

I know that they will all miss her.  I know I will.  But truthfully, I wouldn't want to put her through the struggle of coming to see me.

As I walked back to the car to head back to the struggles of life, I truly was envious of the rest she has found.


I'll see ya', Pat!


And, I'll trim those runoff ditches real close...