A late eulogy

- Dad and Sue -

This week I saw another lengthy obituary. The first line said "he died peacefully at the nursing home." Those are lucky people, I thought. They could simply praise the accolades of their deceased kin and feel at ease about their passing.

I personally have not seen anyone die peacefully. I have seen two deaths, my mom and then my dad, that were agonizing, even as they were expected. The thing I have thought of to help me cope with the feelings of deep unrest that death has left with me is that I am the only one reliving those days of death over and over in my mind, those last memories lingering in me. The people that have died are no longer at that place. They're fine. They've been absorbed into whatever happens after death.

As for the lengthy obituary, how could I say in just a few paragraphs what my dad did and who he was? I'm not going to wax poetic and say we had a perfect relationship. We got on each others nerves and disagreed on a lot of topics. He is at the core of me, though, and laid the foundation of who I am.

He made me feel like Hobbs was mine and the land and places as far as I could see belonged to me and my family. He told stories that brought the past to life, letting me know my grandpa who died before I was born. He showed me Rough Creek, carried me around in the tractor, let me drive the pickup when I was three, and taught me to ride horses. He took me to Panther football games, encouraged me to sing in the Hobbs talent show, and took me to visit his friends, some were old timers with names that no one knows anymore. He served on the Hobbs School board, helped build on to the Cross Roads Church, planted cotton and cut grain all over the county.  He made me think I was special and our family was unique.

He made life seem like the best television show ever, with crazy characters and plotlines with deep background.

Anyway, I loved him and I miss him. I keep thinking of things I want to ask him and I'm dismayed when I realize I can't. I also miss those conversations, with him and my mom, where they knew all the background. No one else knew me like they did.

Dad had hand-written his will, and this was how he finished it: I told you to put "I'll be back next year!" on my gravestone, but you better not, because I don't think I will be. Be happy!

In honor of Mitchell "Mickey" Dewayne Templeton, January 4, 1940-April 4, 2017.