“Between Us”

Both of us were laying on the ground adjacent to the barb-wired fence – the exposer of formerly agile men.

It was commonplace for us to cross fences on the farm. Some were electrified and some weren’t. If they were “hot”, we’d usually make our way to the gate. But sometimes you’re just on the wrong side of the pasture. For fences with no electrical current, it was easier to press down on the top strand of wire with your hand and hop over with an awkward straddle that resembled something between dance and a stumble. I got skilled at hoppin’ the fences. I even leveled up by using dry corn stalks to press down on electrified top strands while I vaulted with great skill the imperiling and potentially impaling obstacle.

This fence was off.  But voltage wasn’t the only nemesis.  If you didn’t keep your crotch clear of the barbed wire, it would snag your clothing or worse poke through creating a prickly situation in your nether region.  And who wants that?  That’s right. Nobody. My Daddy cast an immense shadow though short in stature. There’s plenty of memories as an adolescent doing this dance with him. He never had trouble with it as I recall.

Today was different. No longer was I an adolescent. As well Daddy, though still in relatively good form, was getting older. He’d say “I’ve lost a step” to say he was a little slower, little less agile, little…less than.

I’d hopped the fence line ahead of him. No electricity on this one as the cows were on the far pasture working their way through deep grass. Then something went awry. As he hopped, one of those barbs was a little too close to his jeans.  He got unstuck but lost his balance and landed on his side in a heap.  {Thud} No damage mind you except to his pride. The sandy loam he’d farmed since a child cradled him as gently as it could. We both looked at each other quizzically. I’d never seen him not make it over without sticking the landing. But today was different. Daddy was in his late sixties at that time. I was unsure what to say but recognized the man who had always been the strongest was as he would say “winding down”. The imagery of a clock which needed the aid of someone outside itself was how he pictured himself.

Unsure what to do, I decided to join him. I began to lean the same southern direction he fell and made a thud as the soil broke my fall. I smiled at him as he lay on his right side and me on my left. We both chuckled.  Words were said without saying a one. We knew what was happening. It was a moment of realization for both of us. Daddy was getting older. Something he didn’t delight in but faced daily until the day he passed through the veil.

“Can we keep this between us?” he said.  The question felt odd because I’d never known Daddy to keep a secret.

“Sure thing” I replied. “No need for anyone else to know”.

He nodded back to me in his characteristic style of acknowledgement. We then pressed ourselves up off the ground dusting off ourselves the side effects of gravity and instability.

This day was the first of many I’d be warned that I wouldn’t have my Daddy forever. There would be a day I’d have to let him go. Over the next decade plus I’d see him moving slower in pace and speech.  He was very self-conscious about it – especially his ability to talk. By the time of his passing, he reminded me of Treebeard from Tolkien’s classic Lord of the Rings.  He preferred me to handle most of his business dealings because he said, “You have a mind for it, and it takes me so dang long to say anything anymore”. So, I gladly obliged.

August 7 marks a year since his death, and I had no idea how his absence would absolutely level me. I mean down to the foundation, clear away everything, flattening. It’s been disorienting and somehow clarifying at the same time. The absence of him is as profound as I would imagine the loss of a limb. There are times I start talking to him like he is right there. And if I understand that whole “great cloud of witnesses” passage from Hebrews correctly, he is.

Most of my time with Daddy revolved around working at the farm. For him to ask me to keep that a secret, to conceal that he had weakness made me as a young man feel like I’d be entrusted with the greatest of treasures.  That day was a special but ominus. My Daddy had always been there for others. His wife (Mama), his siblings, his kids, his community, and his church.

He was entrusting me with the secret of his eventual frailty that honestly, he didn’t want anyone getting wind of. People depended on him. He didn’t have any desire for people to not. He was a servant of servants. He found purpose in doing for others. He found joy in doing the unseen, the thankless. That was him.

I guess I’m going against what my Daddy asked by now not keeping this “between us”. But I think he’d understand why. And he’d tell each of us life is short so steward it well. Work while it is still light. The days are evil, but God is good.

Miss you, Daddy.