TEXARKANA MAGAZINE
GOOD EVENING TXK COLUMN BY BAILEY GRAVITT
I f there was one thing I knew I could always count on, it was walking through the front door of my grandparent’s home, knowing my pop would be sitting in his recliner in the corner of their living room, fidgeting his feet back and forth. The aroma of cornbread and chocolate cake filling the air and a western or the Cowboys game on their 65-inch flat screen have always been reliable fixtures in my life. The chair may have changed a time or two over the years, but the location never did, and the man who sat in it never really changed all that much either. Within seconds of walking through the front door, Pop would be rolling his eyes, huffing, and puffing, visibly aggravated. Meaning I either walked over from across the street barefoot, which he thought was dumb, or I was being really loud, and he wanted me to lower my voice. Either way, you always knew where you stood with Pop. I used to tell everyone that my pop would never die. I called him the unbreakable man. He had multiple hospital stints when I was in middle school, in and out of rehab through high school, and a few short-lived assisted living stays through my college years. It was almost like all of it was making him stronger somehow. He just kept hanging on. I think I genuinely believed that he would never die. That’s why I think it was so shocking to me when I realized the funeral home had come to pick up his body the morning he passed, and that was the last time he would be in his home. The home where he built a beautiful 60-year marriage with my granny. The living room where they bore witness to an entire set of grandchildren and great-grandchildren growing up and changing and flourishing. The kitchen in which Granny prepared meal after meal for him where
he’d notice, amongst the endless spread of deliciousness, that there was no bread on the table (and yes, he would comment on that). The recliner he would come back to after a night of coaching his men’s softball team. The garage he would spend hours working puzzles and smoking cigars. The bedroom doors he would peek his head through when my brothers and I stayed over to tell us goodnight and that he loved us. The room where almost every member of our family stood around his lifeless body and listened to my granny tearfully ask, “How blessed are we?” It was that kind of unshakeable faith—the kind it takes to stand next to your husband of 60 years who just went home to be with Jesus and only recognize the blessings you’ve been given—that my granny and pop instilled within us as the next generation. That is what made it possible for us all to make it through one of the most difficult times of our lives. As my family and I face our first holiday season without him, we will never take one minute for granted. That we were fortunate enough to watch the patriarch and matriarch of our family honor their wedding vows to the very end in a culture where marriage is not taken seriously was the ultimate example. My granny truly lived out the words “in sickness and in health,” becoming my pop’s caregiver in his final years. When he was unable to walk and needed her constantly, she always kept a smile on her face and words of encouragement for those around her, always setting herself to the side. It’s our turn as a family to take care of our granny now. I’m thankful for a father figure who bridged the gap for me when I didn’t have a male to look up to. He taught me what it means to be a man. For me, that’s the true legacy my stubborn, opinionated,
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