Estoy Nueces

It's April Fool's Day. Interesting. Something happened today (March 31) that I really didn't know if it would ever happen. My grandfather Hallford died this evening about 8 o'clock. Yes, the man was 100 years old and in poor health, but he has been in poor health for a long, long time and we've celebrated each year with the thought that it would be our last celebration with Papa. I may have to see him to be fully convinced that his soul is no longer with us.

Papa was born in Newburg, Texas on Nov. 17, 1899. Imagine that. He lived six weeks in the NINETEENTH century and three months in the TWENTY-FIRST century and every single day of the TWENTIETH century. I know there are more and more centenarians in America and the world but to live in three centuries will always be an amazing and rare thing.

Papa grew up in an era of outhouses and horses and no electricity. He taught in one room school houses with pot bellied stoves. Today he lived (completely unaware, sadly) in a world of computers and instant communication and practically instant travel and a busy, chaotic world that he would probably not be happy in.

I won't go into a whole litany of my memories of Papa. He wasn't the loving grandfatherly sweet man that you read about. He was respectful and companionable and loved to share knowledge. If I learned anything from him it was to constantly be seeking out information and learning new ideas. When I was maybe 11 or 12 he and I exchanged many letters about Erik Von Dongen's (is that spelled right?--too late to care) Chariots from Outer Space and other books about the exsistence of aliens. He was quite skeptical, yet willing to learn, about things that were so beyond our realm of understanding.

Papa wrote poems. I have some of them and there are notebooks and notebooks of them among the cousins and aunts. No, they are not Ogden Nash or Elizabeth Barrett or even worth reading for the most part. They are mostly four line rhyming sermons and vitriol directed at a certain preacher of the Baptist church (yes, the church that he -- and to a much lesser degree, I -- are faithful members of). He wrote at least a poem a day for years and years and years. An amazing accomplishment when you think about me even trying to write faithfully in this online diary or the one under the bed (which hasn't been touched since mid-December). He had persistence that I wish I could emulate.

I keep picturing Papa happily in a heaven surrounded by my grandmother, whom he called "Pill" for unknown reasons, and his sister, my Aunt Det, and his parents and others unknown to me. Maybe in the great mystery of death he knows Mark's grandfather A.Z. that passed away only last month. They were so much alike and had so much in common that I hope that they can sit down and compare notes in heaven. And I hope Papa doesn't come down too hard on A.Z. for converting from Baptist to Church of Christ in order to please his wife.

As I was driving home tonight, stopping at the Sonic for hot greasy Tater Tots and enjoying the sights and sounds of Austin at night and longing for the world of Billy Lee Brammers' "A Gay Place," I had no real idea that I would come home to this news. Papa has been old forever. Papa has been ill forever. Papa has been close to death so many times that we could open a store filled with our "funeral clothes." But Papa is dead now.

There was a wonderful story in the booklet that hospice provided at Mark's grandfather's death. It told story of standing on the shore and seeing a beautiful strong ship sailing in the harbor, marveling at its size and capacity and strength. We see it leave the harbor and sail toward the horizon and we are sad to see it diminish in size and begin to disappear from us. Someone says, "It's gone" but we all know that it really isn't. It is still as strong and beautiful as it was when it left the port. It is just beyond our vision and comprehension to see that it is still the same. And just as surely as we are sad and angry to see it go away and disappear from our view, there are people on the other shore cheering and happy as it grows larger and comes into their harbor.

These next few days will be interesting as we put together our final farewell to Papa. We have a couple of preachers in the family to give the sermon, they may ask me or another cousin to provide a remembrance or two, and I wouldn't be surprised to have my sister sing "How Great Thou Art" at the service. It may very well be the last time I see the bulk of my cousins together. Most of us were together for Papa's 100th birthday in November and I know as many as can be there for the funeral will be there Monday. I'll miss him and I will miss the link he gave us all to each other.