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There he sat in a wheel chair,
shirtless, his body shriveled and tanned as worn leather. His ribs and
shoulder bones very visible against the taunt skin, his once thick
black hair was now thin and gray. His breathing was heavy and
difficult; it was obvious that he was struggling for life; the pain
would flash across his face occasionally then gradually recede.
I studied him that day. I never had
before did I ever know him? No, not really! I wonder did anyone really
know him? I looked into his small blue-gray eyes and it was
then, I realized that I was indeed looking at his soul.
His spirit was revealed to me through
the sparkle in his eyes. They contained light, energy, mischief and
yes, contentment. The expressions in his eyes would change from time
to time. I could not help but wonder what he was thinking about or
what route his mind was traveling-was it a route to the past? and then
too I began to remember.
I remembered:
That he loved to sing, usually silly
songs of his childhood or songs his father had taught him. I
especially remember when he used to sing to us the ditty, “ A Frogy
Went a Courting”. I remember that when he was working he would place
his tongue between his teeth slightly protruding from his lips. One
could tell the job was especially difficult by pressure he exhorted on
his tongue.
I remember he was a quite man, not
given to a lot of useless conversation, but he did like to reminisce
and when he did he talked about his life in Oklahoma and his “Mamie”,
he never referred to his mother as mom, it was always “Mamie”. He
spoke of huckleberries, wild plums, and sparkling cool creeks.
I remember that he was not a church
going man, yet his faith was unquestionable. He had read and studied
the Bible, yet he made no claim to be the ultimate authority. Religion
was a personal thing to him.
I guess I remember most that Dad hated
to say goodbye. We often discussed this, for I too hated goodbyes. He
sensed this when I left home for college and he never made me feel
guilty because he understood.
That day I sat on the porch studying
him, I realized that this was good-bye-unspoken, but never the less
good-bye
When the phone call came a few weeks
later I knew that He and I had already said good bye each in our own
way-each understanding when I refused to go to the funeral home to
view his lifeless body. I couldn’t for I had already said good bye and
now when I close my eyes, I see that weathered, tired, yet not
defeated body sifting in a wheel chair on the front porch and he has a
special delightful twinkle in his eyes and his soul revealed once more
to me-a soul of love and I say to his spirit ‘yes you understand, for
you always hated good-byes”.
We all must remember too, you didn’t
have to tell daddy that you loved him -He knew -he understood
-Remember he didn’t like good-bys.
1981 by Mildred Dicus-Walker
Song playing is "Victory In Jesus,
which was daddy's favorite gospel hymn
Robert Eugene Dicus
April 21 |
I looked at his
rough and weathered hands, with knuckles gnarled white as they
gripped the wheels of his conveyance. Those hands; who long ago
held a tiny child to massage its heart as is gasped for breath.
Nancy, Uncle Bob was
the sweetest man I ever knew. I am glad I had the chance to know
him, Uncle Johnny, and Uncle Arvil. Although I guess Uncle Bob and
Aunt Margaret were the two of knew more. I remember their visits
when I was a child. Daddy also was a gentle man. Daddy told the
story of grandpa Dicus looking out on the cotton field and saw two
white headed children coming towards him. He made the comment that
their were two cotton heads coming his way. Of course it was Uncle
Bob and Pauline. Daddy talked a lot about Uncle Bob and Aunt
Pauline. The best to you! 
