For those of you that
don’t know, or haven’t seen me since I was twelve. I’m
William Mills. I’m Andrea & Bill's son.
Now, I’m not going to
stand here and make a joke about how I
was PawPaw’s favorite grandson, but I
would venture to say I was at least in
the top 3. You probably knew my PawPaw as Mookie, because everyone knew him
as Mookie, but I knew him as PawPaw. But the thing about the name PawPaw, or Mookie,
is that it carried so many different adjectives along with it.
Daddy, Husband, Grandpa, Farmer,
Hunter, Korean War Veteran, boxer, every Wednesday night card player, ultra
light fligher (and crasher), sausage maker, cook, duck raiser, crawfisher,
carpenter, gas saver, daily soap opera watcher, stubborn, phone caller, weather
asker, “put on your cruise” driver, giver, lover, Aunt Dianne once called him an ornery ole cusp, monkey blood wearer, grass cutter, pine cone picker, combine
driver, gardener, handkerchief holder, practical joker, pull your legger, and
friend.
I’m here to talk to you about a few of the most vivid memories I have
of Pawpaw that I think embodied the man that he was, and how he has effectively shaped the man that I am now.
So the first…
I’ve been here a lot. WE have been here a lot. PawPaw was one of many
children. A lot of his brothers and sisters and cousins have passed along
before him, and I’ve been to most every one
of their funerals. But the thing about PawPaw
is he didn’t let his personality change
in the wake of a death in the family.
So one day I was here (at the funeral home), for the funeral
of one of his brothers, Uncle Elmo I believe. We
were sitting together in the back left corner because we were late, he was
probably feeding his ducks or something before, and on the way in he had to
stop and talk to an old friend who was outside smoking, as well as he had to
tell them how bad smoking was for them and that they should immediately quit.
So we were in the back. And the priest who was doing the
service was either breathing in a weird way
or adding a little noise at the end of every sentence that sounded funny enough
for one of us to start laughing. And then one looked at the other, and it was
game over. It turned into one of those church/serious moments where you’re
trying not to laugh, and the fact that you aren’t supposed to be laughing makes
it that much funnier. Well, we silently
laughed so hard we cried.
I’ll never forget this
moment, but he looked down at me and with one hand over a grin and one hand wiping
tears from his eyes he said, “Ya know what William, I hope ya’ll are laughin’
this much at my funeral, I know Uncle Elmo wouldn’t have wanted us to be sad.”
So, clinging to that memory,
I hope I don’t cry too much while I’m up here.
The only time I ever saw him cry was the day he told me the
story of the day that he thought he was going to die. When he was in Korea, he and
his battalion were in a camp that was
stationed at the bottom of a hill that was held by the enemy, other missions had
been led to take it, but were all unsuccessful. He said that he hadn’t slept in
days because the roof would shake from bombings every 10 minutes. They received
orders that night that they would be storming the hill. He looked at me, eyes
watering, and said, “William, I thought I was going to die that night.”
I was confronted with a situation where the hardest and emotionally stout man I knew was
crying, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. We sat their silently for a
few minutes, and he finished the conversation with, “But here we are.”
PawPaw loved us all in his own way. He wanted to give the
world to his family but wasn’t the best
at expressing his emotions. He was an actionable man. I think I received a lot of PawPaw’s traits into my genetic coding, the
ability to grow an awesome mustache, his sarcasm, his drive, his problems with
expressing emotion (unless he was short on patience, we never seem to have a
problem with that), but I missed out on his wit. He was the sharpest
minded, quick-witted, and easy going people person I’ve ever met. He
could talk to anyone, he loved people, and he loved to talk.
Reflecting on his life, I’ve learned these lessons that I want
to share with you. Pawpaw was all about teaching us something or another, whether
that be sitting there for an hour and a half while he worked on something,
mindlessly picking up pinecones, or going on a drive with him into town, it all
meant something.
Here’s what I learned:
·
Make light of situations in the best way you can
o
Pawpaw did it with his humor and lightheartedness
·
Express what you have on your mind to the ones
you love
o
Pawpaw wasn’t the best at this, I wasn’t, and have not been the
best at this. I only recount two instances
where I ever felt like Pawpaw was upset or disappointed in me. But because we
were never good at this, we never talked about it. And I waited too long, and
now we can’t. I’m going to have to live… to some degree with a sense of regret.
Please, don’t make the same mistake as me. If you need to ask for forgiveness from
someone, do it. If you need to forgive someone, do it.
o
Let them know, PawPaw was incapable of holding a
grudge.
·
Work HARD
o
About 10 years ago PawPaw’s hands gave out on
him, he had rheumatoid arthritis, and it got to the point where you couldn’t
shake his hand because it hurt too much. He’d give you an elbow bump instead.
o
Pawpaw’s favorite line when it was time to leave
our house was “We needa get back to the
house Jackie.” It was a famous line from him –
because he always had something that needed to get done back at the
house.
o
If I work at 10 percent of the capacity at which
this man worked I will achieve all the dreams that he allowed to happen, I hope
my work can make him proud.
·
Pray
o
One night as a young
boy I was staying at the house, we had finished eating dinner, and he was nowhere to be found. I went to look
for him in the back of the house. For some reason I was being quiet and didn’t call his name, I started to
open his cracked door, but before I could
place my hand on the door, I saw him at the
side of the bed, knelt down in prayer. I froze, and I just watched. It was the
first time I’d seen him pray, but thereafter
I made an effort to check back in to see if he still did it. Pawpaw knelt by the
bed to pray every night until he could no longer kneel.
o
At a young an impressionable age, I learned what
prayer meant, even at the time I had no idea
what I was doing. I watched, and I
learned.
o
The lesson I learned was consistency. Pawpaw was
a habit kind of man, and his prayer life taught me what it meant to be
consistent. Practically it meant that prayer would happen most every day,
but if it didn’t, if I were to say stray from the path, the consistency always
brought me back.
o
On the way here my Mom said that Pawpaw always said
he would pray while cutting grass and on
the combine. Life depended on rain, and he was always
praying for it. When it would finally
begin to rain, he would walk outside and stand in the rain with his arms stretched out, smiling and thanking God. I imagine
him doing this in heaven surrounded by God’s grace.
o
I encourage you, that if you haven’t prayed in
awhile to try it, get down on your knees tonight and pray. Pawpaw would highly
recommend it… about as much as he’d highly recommend you quit smoking.
It has been wonderful to see all of you these past couple of days, and hear all of your favorite Mookie stories. It has been
just as wonderful to hear that Pawpaw was
always the same man regardless of the situation. My hope is that he is with Jesus, rejoicing, working the perfect
garden, and “pullin’ everyone’s leg.”
Remember, Larry/Mookie/Pawpaw would’ve wanted you to laugh instead
of cry, share instead of hold it in, and pray instead of go to bed. Thank you all.
