The reason is that between late September through Thanksgiving, my wife, sister, brother-in-law and I were helping to care for our stepfather who was in the last days of Lou Gehrig's disease. I will return to more regular posting on trucking issues soon, but for now, please consider this eulogy to my step-father, Brodie Jack Whipple.
Since October 22 of this year, I have spent more time with “Poppi” than in
the last 20 years.
Unlike my sister, I was never as close to Poppi.
Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but honestly, I never really
knew him. To me he was always "Whip," a nickname for his last name,
Whipple. Do his granddaughters and just about everyone else, he was known as
“Poppi.”
I started calling him Poppi in the last year or so. I don't
know why. I just did. It seemed right.
I probably didn’t know him so well only because when our
family gets together, most of the air-space is taken up by ALL OF US so that a quiet man like “poppi” would
rarely have room to make a comment.
On the occasion when he could get a word in edge-wise - OR-
if something NEEDED to be said, it was usually pretty weighty.
In the last few weeks of his life, as Poppi and I got pretty “up close and
personal,” some of the weightier comments
included:
1.
“Your
mother has been the best part of my life.”
2.
“I
don’t know how it happened: The words
just came out of my mouth, “Will you marry me?” and the words just came out of
her mouth “Yes.”
-
Mom
and Whip were married in the very room where he spent his last days looking out
the window and watching TV with the
ever-present clicker
-
Funny
thing, even when he could not speak, he had control of the clicker
3.
“Tell
your girls (Jessica and Erica) how much joy they have brought to my life.”
4.
“You’re
a good boy.”
5.
“When
is Joan coming over?”
-
This
is a phrase that I ALWAYS heard from Poppi because no matter how many times I
was in town for business and stopped by,
he would always say, with a twinkle in
his eye, “It’s good to see you, but when
is Joan coming over.”
I love him for the affirmation and kindness he always showed
Joan.
The first week that Joan tagged team from Shreveport to take
care of Poppi, she made him oatmeal ,
which he went on and on about.
A few days later I made him the same syrupy oatmeal that Joan
made, but that same familiar twinkle in
his eye, he said: “Tell Joan that I like the way she taught you to make
oatmeal.”
Not to be outdone, it was time to introduce Poppi to McDonald’s
breakfast burrito, which he ate almost every
day for as long as he could eat.
I surpassed Joan in something!
He loved the backyard and I had the privilege of clearing
away a bunch of brush around the Lady Bankston roses planted by my sweet
grandmother, Mema, and his pear tree this past summer.
There were many things he built and planted for Mom and the
birds. I thanked him for doing that … even if it DID require me to sweat off
ten pounds working in his yard!
He loved Sam, his dog. He knew when Sam needed something.
Even when he could barely talk, Poppi would remind me to take care of Sam. The
same for that obnoxious cat, named DC
for “damn cat.”
Above all, he loved my mother.
He told me recently “I have hardly ever said No to your
mother.”
He was the bread to my mother's butter; the salt to her
pepper.
One of the last things, I told him was how much I loved him
for loving Mom, Leisa and Joan, my wife the way he did. He was a good and gentle man.
In these last days we had some good talks about his hometown
of Mer Rouge, his paintings, his mother, CNN, Fox News, Duck Dynasty, “Big
Bang” the television show .
I also endured the
weather channel, the antique road show, The Neighbors, the Young & The
Restless (that he watched TWICE a day) and football.
We were able to talk about faith issues several times. These talks were never heated or
controversial. The last time I talked to Poppi was when I knew he wanted to go,
but didn’t know “how.” I reminded him of some of our earlier talks that:
God is
infinitely merciful.
That God, in his mercy, became human
in Jesus to literally bear Poppi’s disease on the cross so that Poppi
could be with God eternally healed.
I encouraged Poppi to simply trust
Jesus to take his hand and go ahead and pass in peace.
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