I jumped on Face Book and there was this note from "Papa Grand Elliott" which featured a picture of my Dad, Mom, sister and me. Died died a couple of years ago so I knew it wasn't him. Mom mostly posts things others write on Face Book. David quotes scripture, has pictures of this seven thousand grandchildren and writes homilies on things. Angi mostly congratulates her sons for whatever sport they played that day.
Hmmm ...
I posted on the wall. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my Dad?"
There was no response.
Yesterday would have been Dad's 78th birthday. David posted a homily in his honor which is what one would expect. Dad has become a Saint since I last saw him. This was welcome news as I had no idea. We used to drink beer together and philosophize about things. I once went with him and his friends to the Bahamas and couldn't hang. They were wild! Nevertheless, I'm glad that he's reached Sainthood and that David monitors and reports on his progress.
On the other hand Angi, took Dad, now living in a box as ashes, on the road to the GA/Tennessee game and gave him a beer. As a matter of fact, for every University of Georgia football game, Angi makes sure that Dad is resting comfortably in his chair in front of the wide screen television set with a beer resting on the coffee table should he want a sip.
My recollections are Dad actually lived somewhere between the two extremes celebrated above.
But what I appreciate about David and Angi and ... whoever the hell "Papa Grant Elliott" is ... is that they continue to celebrate his life.
Just because someone dies doesn't mean they don't linger.
Dad certainly does, though he never had a great sense of timing knowing when to leave.
The other day I was reminded of Warren Zevon a famous songwriter (Werewolves of London, Poor Poor Pitiful Me and hundred others). He was riding high when cancer came. Rather take treatment ... he hated doctors ... he recorded an album about having cancer and dying. Everybody showed up to be on the album ... Bruce Springsteen, Don Henley, Jackson Browne, Emmy Lou Harris, and others). The last song on the thing is "Knocking on Heaven's Door."
Before he died he was on the David Letterman show and was asked, "What have you learned about life and death?"
Warren looked down, then looked up, and said to the world, "Enjoy every sandwich."
Yep.
So that is how I try to live. Dad loved to eat. He ate too much but damn he enjoyed it! He enjoyed most of the rest of life too. I took that as a lesson from him ... do your best to enjoy the hell out of it ... we just have it this once.
But according to whoever the hell "Papa Grand Elliott" is on Facebook, Dad is watching Braves games from heaven and if Angi is to believed, he's taking regular road trips, keeping up with college football and is back to drinking beer.
These things make me smile.
"So Dad! I knew it was your birthday yesterday but didn't say much about it. I told Sarah and Dee and Mom and I had a brief conversation. I don't remember you being especially excited about birthdays anyway (though I remember pictures of the cake the boys gave you at Spanky's and you taking a bite out of the ... appropriate spot). Anyway, I'm glad that you never had a knack for leaving cue ... hell you waited on me to get back before leaving at all! ... and I'm you're lingering."
And, um ... Papa Grand Elliott!
Who in the hell are you?
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