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March 23, 2006
In Rememberance
Categories: Personal
Last Friday, March 17th (Sarah's birthday), my grandfather passed away. Troy Pope was 90. He had 9 children, 18 grandchildren, and 17 great-grandchildren. He had been sick for some time, full of the ailments of age, and had not been able to care for himself for several years.
I cannot claim to have known Grandaddy Pope, as we called him, well. But there are some things I do know. He had been a farmer, shoe-repairman, and lumber mill worker. He loved to fish. I tried to take him once, after my grandmother had died. We drove up to the creek in Little River, just to look around. He procliamed that the fishing wasn't going to be any good, so we turned around and went home. He worked hard. He went to church every Sunday that he could. He sat in the third pew on the right. He had a gravelly, scratchy voice that could get quite loud. He had a favorite chair by the fire. He cut and split wood like it was a religion. He could stack that wood so that you couldn't put two fingers in between the logs. He fussed over the cats that lived in one of the barns outside the house. He raised earthworms that he used to fish. He helped teach me how to bait a hook, which we dropped in the pond across the road from his house. That pond used to be called Grandaddy's Pond, at least by those 18 grandchildren.
Grandaddy's death is sad in many ways, even as it was not unexpected and, in some ways, a blessing. One of the things that strikes me the most is his death will lead to the fragmentation of the Pope family. There's no one in that farmhouse now, no one to call the children and grandchildren back home. All nine children and all but three grandchildren were present at his funeral; I'm almost certain that Monday was the last time that farmhouse will be that full. I didn't realize how much I would miss that until now.
Farewell, Grandaddy Pope. Be at peace.
Posted by Nakia at March 23, 2006 08:25 PM