Saying Goodbye...

My Dad's Dad, Papaw, has been sick for several years now. He has slowly gone from a Coon Hunting go-getter to an old soul making his way to the other side.

I have memories of late night hunts with my papaw where we put on head lamps, gathered the hunting dogs and set out for the starlit country. Papaw always had two dogs. A pair of hunting buddies that went with him on all his adventures. He had so many different dogs over the years, but I bet you, if I had asked him, he could have named every single one. Several weeks ago, I paid him a long over-due visit where he told me the name of his very favorite dog. Though his words were barely a whisper and I can't now remember the name, I could see the hunting trips with that dog reeling through his mind.

What I remember most about my Papaw was his spirit of adventure. There was just something about being outside, surrounded by trees, immersed in nature that just seemed to suit him. Sunday morning, you would find him in his Sunday best handing out sweets to every kid that ran his way, but if he wasn't at church, well I can bet you, he was out treeing coons with his hunting buddies.

I'll tell you what I loved about Papaw. When I saw him in his last weeks, I wandered over to his desk, and started looking around at the remnants of a time when he still sat there. Posted all over the wall behind his desk were scriptures. Verses, notes from his bible, bits of sermons he wanted to remember, handwritten and pinned on his wall. He loved God more than anything, and in this day and age where we all have a 'back-burner' God, a man with a dedication to the Lord like this is something the behold.

And I think that is exactly how he would want to be remembered. A God-fearing man, who expected a firm handshake, was always up for an adventure and never truly lost his ornery child-like spirit.

This was the very last time I saw my Papaw. He was having a conversation with Kase about cars. There was just something so moving about watching kase's tiny hands against the frail hands of my grandpa that made this the most perfect last memory to hold.

I didn't know for sure, that when I walked through that door it would be the last good-bye, but I know now that he is finally free from his suffering, and that is the very best part.