“The audacious hope of rooted things”
That was my first thought when I looked up from a traffic light this week and realized that the bluebonnets had bloomed. It actually caught my breath looking at them and recognizing they were here, along with spring.*
I suspect the bluebonnets have been here for awhile, but my eyes have been cast down, along with my heart – and I missed the rebirth and bloom of the gorgeous wild flowers.
I feel ridiculous for how deeply I miss my GrandDad. When life goes according to plan, we are supposed to bury our grandparents. Sadly, all three sets of my grandparents buried their own children. If life is sweet enough to let us plan according to the circle of a full life, then I should have been ready. But, I never, ever would have been.
I miss him. He stepped in and raised me as a daughter when he didn’t have to. My parents divorced when I was eight months old, which lead to my mother and I moving in with her parents. Since my mom and her siblings called him Daddy, and my grandmother referred to him as Daddy in front of the kids, then I did too. Lots of my cousins call him GrandDad, or Papa – but he was always Daddy to me.
Daddy was an old school grandfather. He didn’t come to every single game or school function, but he was always available for a teaching lesson. Recently, when we gathered for his funeral, it was heartwarming to hear of all the lessons that each of his thirteen grandchildren gleamed from his one-on-one gentle teaching.
When I was young, our grandparents had a ranch in Clarendon, Texas. We spent almost every weekend out there and it is still one of my mind’s happiest places. The winters in the panhandle are cold. One morning particular, Daddy was headed out to check the cattle and break up the frozen tanks for them to have drinking water. Being his shadow and a seasoned mini-Rancher myself, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t join him as usual. After begging, my grandmother finally bundled me up in 26 layers of clothes, and off we went to work.
At our first stop, Daddy left the truck and heater running, got out and told me to stay put. As you can imagine, it got a tad toasty under the dozen layers of clothing, so one by one, I took them all off. Every single one. When he got back in the truck he recounts being agitated at having to re-clothe a three year old, but successfully got all the layers back on. At the next stop he told me to stay in the truck cab, and to not take my warm clothes off again. I must have felt a trickle of sweat, because I ended up shedding them all. He got back in, exhausted from breaking ice, and doing whatever weekend ranchers do during blizzards, redressed me and plainly told me, “Autumn Brooke, if you take your clothes off again, I’m going to find a switch and spank you.”
To this point, I’d never had a spanking in my life, so I’m positive I didn’t understand. But alas, you know what happens next. Third stop came, nakedness ensued. Daddy got back in the truck – said my full name, redressed me for the third time, then found a switch on the ground and whipped me with it. Knowing Daddy’s gentle nature, I can’t imagine it was a hard one. I don’t even remember the spanking. I just remember my heart being broken and running back into the ranch house telling Meme that Daddy had spanked me with a big tree.
He probably wasn’t fed dinner that night. Poor Daddy.
Daddy was a hard worker and a loyal man. He was fair and just. He was also a quick learner. Once, hauling a trailer full of cattle, we came to the end of our county road to turn left on Highway 287. He asked me – the mature co-pilot of four years old, if there were any cars coming my way. I looked and said no. As he pressed the gas, I calmly said, “Just that big ol’ truck.” to which the brake was slammed just in time to miss getting hit by a semi. I don’t think the cattle suffered any injuries, but I still feel bad for them.
Daddy never asked for my help while driving again. He also learned that I am very literal, don’t ask for just cars if you meant all moving vehicles.
I had the best sets of grandparents a gal could have requested. Daddy was the last to leave this earth. Forgive me for sounding grandstanding – but he was the last person on earth who’s eyes lit up when I walked into the room. They lit up not because I was special in general, just special to him. They lit up because he knew all of our history and memories. They lit up because I came to see him. They lit up because he also knew how deeply and dearly he was loved. And who’s eyes don’t light up when that fullness of love is present?
One of the sweetest gifts of my life was being there when he passed. Being able to sit with him in his last hours – holding his hand, kissing his face, double knotting our heartstrings, and shepherding him home.
Thankfully, there is such an audacious hope in rooted things.
Things rooted in love, patience, gentleness, kindness, forgiveness, selflessness, wonderment, hope, and again – love.
Things rooted in the good soil my grandparents created for their family to grow in.
I am a lucky girl. We will never stop missing Daddy, a man who lived a full life of 91 years. It is comforting to recognize this grief is a reflection of love for our grandparents, and of being loved so well by them. I was 21 years old when we lost Meme, and 40 when Daddy joined her. Not nearly enough years to have had them. But plenty of time for the deep well of love to be dug and filled.
What their love nurtured and grew are some of the best parts of me, along with the deepest roots.
*An incredibly thoughtful friend gave me a plaster kit several years ago. To take and create this mold of mine and Daddy’s hands. When we did this, Daddy thought I was crazy, but loved it. This is one of my greatest treasures. Worth more than rubies or gold. Thank you Kyla. <3
*This was written months ago, as the bluebonnets are now almost gone.
*Audacious hope quote is from “Ruby” by Cynthia Bond
