A soft, gentle, much needed rain will be falling this morning at the gravesite of Mr. Ralph Newman. Maybe I should call it a “mourning rain”. Ralph might’ve got to Heaven & made that his first order of business, ’cause he sure knew we needed it. My heart is with all the Newmans this morning as they lay David’s daddy in the earth. Many of you know him, have bought hay from him, have seen him working in the fields. I loved Mr. Newman. He was one of the first farmers I ever waited on when I came to work at Co-op. He was patient with me as I hunted item numbers for his requested feed and baler twine. He has been patient with me over the years as I tracked down the right bolts, seeds, shoestrings, oil, vaccines, and information for him on herbicide & pesticide application rates. I’d spot him ambling along the aisles of the store & I’d break off from whatever I was doing to go speak to him. Well, go holler at him, is more accurate. We got along good because his hearing had been sub par for several years & I tend to talk loud. ” Hello, Mr. Newman!” I’d bellow, & he’d grin ear-to-ear. “Hello, Amy!” He’d holler back. Or sometimes he’d call me “sis”. It’s been a long time since he’s called me ” little’un” but we won’t go into that 😉

Mr. Newman was a tall, wiry man who wore glasses, checkered button-up shirts, & overalls without fail. He is exactly who you picture when I say “farmer”. He was always smiling with his lips AND his eyes. He had a great laugh that I will miss as much as anything. He spent 87 years on this earth, 63 of those with his wife, and I reckon that’s long enough for anybody to grow weary & desire to go home.

I went to see him in the hospital about a month ago. It was a dual-purpose visit for me. A good friend had just had her baby earlier that afternoon & so it was convenient for me to make my rounds with everybody that evening. I stopped by Ashley’s bedside first & it was wonderful, as all newborns are. Everybody was joyous & laughing & having a great time celebrating this new life. I stayed for awhile then bid my fare the wells & took the elevator up to Mr. Newman’s floor. I wasn’t sure what to expect, David had been telling me his daddy was “not doing good”, but that can mean several different things. Clearly, for him to be kept in the hospital he was under the weather. But I was unconcerned, as only the truly oblivious can be. I boldly walked into the room & my courage evaporated & abandoned me on the spot. For one thing, I was alone. It was just me & Mr. Newman, who lay motionless on the bed with his eyes & mouth open. Oh, what had I gotten myself into, being so fearless to come by myself? “Mr. Newman, you awake?” I called, loud enough to probably wake the people down the hall. No response. I sat down in the chair next to him & began to cry alligator tears. I couldn’t stop. I finally decided this wasn’t doing either one of us a bit of good & stood up to go. I was barely patting his shoulder & telling him goodbye when he turned his head towards me. “Whattya doin’ sis?” He croaked out. I bout had a heart attack. He had been sleeping with his eyes open. Some people do that. Especially servicemen. I apologized for waking him & collapsed back into the chair, after helping him with his applesauce & water. “Everybody’s left me, ain’t they?” “Oh, I’d say they’ll be back,” I assured him. “It’s suppertime,” I added, after glancing at the clock. Then I sat there sniffing, trying to dry up my tears. I was afraid I was going to upset him with all my crying I couldn’t seem to get a handle on, but he was unperturbed. I guess after 80-some odd years you become accustomed to a woman’s tears. He didn’t have on the TV & didn’t seem to want it on & all my crying was getting on my own nerves so I had to tell him goodbye. I watched my tears hit his sheet. I was sorry to leave but I couldn’t help it. I cried all the way home, that awful hiccuping type that children have after you scold them. I knew I was fortunate & blessed to see “new beginnings & near departures,” as one of my eloquent friends described it. That Friday was profound and I am thankful for the experience.

I guess that’s why I didn’t cry last night at the funeral home. I was all cried out for him. I was relieved I didn’t get emotional. I have been known to be more torn up than the closest of kin, just because I’m a crybaby. (I know one thing, I would make a crummy funeral director) Funerals are awkward for everyone. The family standing with the departed don’t know everyone, the people coming through the line don’t know the family. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” is the general platitude, but it seems so removed. “Thank you for coming,” is the general response, but if you were close to the person lying there, or to one of their loved ones, where else would you be? Funerals are an obligation when you become an adult. Although I am noticing a decrease in the number of people my age who attend. I don’t know if it’s a general act of disrespect or if they just weren’t taught better. You have to buck up & swallow your fears & at least go sign the book even if you can’t bring yourself to walk up to the casket. I know to some of you it probably seems like all I do is go to the funeral home. Shug made the comment not long after we started dating that I seem to go a lot. But I can’t imagine NOT paying my respects. The presence of people in your life makes your life your own, does that make sense? If someone influences me, then I owe them a little something. The person who died may not know we were there, but the ones that are left notice. And it matters. Do you understand that love is all that matters? That’s what Jesus tries to teach us. We take them our best home-cooked dishes after they bury their loved one to give them comfort & ease their way back into real life. We send them flowers so their hardest days will have something beautiful in them. And we give them our ears & our arms for their voiced fears, tears, and memories. The rain kept me from the graveside this morning but I hope Virginia and the rest of the Newmans are comforted by the words I have left here. Thanks y’all for the kind words. I want to tell you about Mr. Newman’s last hour too.

He was completely lucid till the end. He ate every day. After a rough weekend of coughing & not getting much rest, Monday came & he didn’t want breakfast. He was argumentive about the hospice nurse coming. His granddaughter came & changed his pajama top & socks. They finally got him talked into allowing the nurse in, & she was getting him cleaned up & was going to change his shirt & he let her know real quick she wasn’t going to. Told her that his granddaughter had put it on him, & that’s where it would stay. And same went for his socks.

They finally got him settled & he laid back & closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and was gone. Just like that. Quick & peaceful. Isn’t that what we all wish for? The family has been with him pretty much full time for about two months now, and I think that’s the best many of us could wish for.

Postscript: Sometimes I think it would be nice to be so far from my family. But then we’ve lived clustered in our little compound for so long, I’m pretty sure part of me would wither up & die to be separated so long from any of them. I can’t imagine not being able to look out my kitchen window & not see the fields I’ve spent countless hours riding horses or playing with my dogs.