"A righteous man who walks in his integrity -
How blessed are his sons after him"
Proverbs
20:7 NASB
June
5, 2019
As I write this my Daddy
is dying. While it seems sudden, he has been in a physical and
cognitive decline for several years. In no specific order he has had
prostate cancer, heart bypass surgery, a stroke, cancer on his vocal cords, and
two broken hips. Perhaps the most sinister has been the creeping
effects of dementia.
It was the last hip
break that has put him down. After a successful surgery, he
developed pneumonia and spent several days in ICU. Though there were
days when it seemed that he was recovering, his overall tread for the past
months has been downward.
So today, as he sleeps,
I consider his eulogy.
June
12, 2019
The
Funeral
This past Saturday, my
daughter, Elizabeth, came to visit at my mom and dad’s. I had been
there for four days and I had a desperate need to get outside for a
bit. I suggested to Elizabeth that we go for a
ride. Perhaps it was because I had been reflecting on my dad’s life
and his impact on me that I felt drawn to Antioch Baptist Church and
specifically the church cemetery.
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| Sam Caveny 2016 |
We parked across the
road from the church and began a meandering walk through the
cemetery. I pointed out the graves of my Grandpa Harlin and Great
Grandpa John. I pointed to the lower end of the cemetery where
two uncles were buried. I showed Elizabeth the marker for my 2 Great
Grandpa Columbus’s grave and a tombstone for a Civil War soldier craved by my 3
Great Grandpa R.C. Caveny in 1861. It is an area steeped in Caveny
family history.
I confessed to Elizabeth
that I couldn’t define why it seemed so important to bring her there,
particularly at that point in time. But, it seemed vital that I
share that place and snippets of stories with her about our family. Later it
struck me that I was somehow trying to better understand our family’s legacy
and how it was intertwined in the community for almost 250 years, particularly as that legacy relates to my dad.
***
I have a hazy memory of
Daddy walking up the drive after a day at work. Since it was at what
we later called The Little Red House I was somewhere either side of three years
old. While the image is fuzzy – Daddy got out of someone’s car – the
childhood emotion I recall is vivid. Joy. My Daddy was home.
Sometime after this, we
moved into my childhood home. Neither set of my grandparents had
owned a home at that point. Both Mama and Daddy moved many times
during their childhoods. Owning their own home offered stability
they neither had known as children. Daddy told me many times that
buying that house was one of the scariest things he had ever done. The
monthly mortgage was equal to two of his weekly paychecks in those early
days. This house is still their home.
To fend off those
financial fears, Daddy worked. Over the next 40 years he worked 55 hours a week
at the mica mine. Monday through Friday he was there from 7:00 am to
5:00 pm. On Saturdays he worked a half day – 7:00 to
noon. It was a bruising schedule in a dusty environment that
contributed to him developing COPD later in life. Many evenings
after his shift at the mine, he welded for folks for extra money. Daddy seemed
to be in continual motion.
One of my favorite
things during my childhood years was when Daddy went back to work at the mine
after supper. Usually this was the result of a mechanical breakdown
of some sort. While it added to an already long day for Daddy, he
often took me and Dennis back to work with him. In hindsight, I’m
sure it was a potential OSHA nightmare. But for inquisitive kids, it
was the ultimate playground. There was lots of noise and terrifying
machinery that crushed rocks and heavy equipment that moved sand from place to
place. There was a unique smell of chemicals (some of them extremely
hazardous) and dust that I still find oddly appealing.
The thing that struck me
then and even more so as an adult, was how much Daddy trusted us. There
were many processes that we could have negatively impacted by turning a value
or diverting a flow of water. There were countless belts and pulleys
that could snap off fingers and arms. But those explorations fostered a sense
of curiosity about how things work and instilled a strong sense of self
confidence in me and my brother. Perhaps most importantly, Daddy
demonstrated that when your talents are needed, you step up and apply them,
even if doing so adds to an already long day.
When I was 14 or 15, I
got a job mowing grass and doing odd jobs around the mine. One
afternoon, I was in the welding shop with Daddy. He was building
something that required cutting a large circle out of a metal
plate. He needed to calculate the number of square inches in that
circle of steel. I was ready to show him how smart I was by rattling
off the formula of A=πr2. Before I could blabber out my newfound
knowledge of geometry, Daddy said, “Now if I measure from the center of the
circle to the edge (the radius) and multiple that together (the radius
squared), then multiple that by three (the approximate value of pi), it should
get me pretty close.” I have thought back to that moment many
times. It pointed out the supremacy of functional over theoretical knowledge. While
he may have been lacking a formal education, Daddy had practical knowledge that
served him throughout life.
Daddy could build or
repair most anything. He built buildings and roads and furniture. He
carved intricate figurines from wood. He could repair a furnace,
rebuild a carburetor and build a tractor from parts. I spent many
hours holding a flashlight and fetching wretches during these
projects. These were more than “how to” lessons for
me. Daddy taught me the value self-sufficiency and determination,
along with a healthy a dose of stubbornness.
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| My last photo with Daddy |
Daddy taught me about
faith. A favorite memory is of us going to the Easter sunrise
service at the Kings Mountain Cemetery. Nowadays, those services come to mind
each Easter Sunday. I never heard a stereotypical “testimony” from
Daddy. Instead his was a lived faith. I don’t recall ever
not being in church or him not being there with us. He served in a
variety of roles in church. I even remember him leading music on occasion
during the Sunday School assembly. Daddy taught me to tithe and by
example to trust that God would provide for our needs. I recall a
story he told many times of only having enough money for his tithe one Sunday
morning. To give it would leave him broke until his Tuesday
paycheck. He gave it all. Then after church, someone paid
him for a set of golf clubs Daddy had sold the man weeks
earlier. Perhaps that is why one of my favorite verses of scripture
is Psalms 37:25 “I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the
righteous forsaken or their children begging for bread.” There are countless examples of God's provision for our family.
Daddy demonstrated how to interact with family. I suppose every family has its dysfunctional side and ours is no different. But Daddy modeled that we love each other regardless of our differences. Once I moved away, he usually cried as we left after a visit and he would slip me a little gas money for the trip home. And it was more than family, Daddy loved people. Whether it was at a family function, lunch at the café, or hanging out at a local store, he just enjoyed being with people.
While this is Daddy’s
memorial service, I have to mention two people that have played an integral
role in Daddy’s care over the past months. We couldn’t have made it
without my cousin, Kenneth. His support has been invaluable. Kenneth
had an easy way with Daddy. Daddy loved him like a son.
And of course, there is
Mama. Daddy could be a little challenging. He was forever
bringing home his latest finds from the flea market and yard sales – there are
still boxes of flower vases and a variety of broken power tools in his workshop. He
loved the challenge of resurrecting a piece of junk to its original
functionality. In the past few years, the dementia generated
frustrating, compulsive behaviors such as ranking the yard. Mama took this in
stride. And in these last days, she gave him the care all of us hope
for as we make the transition from this life to the next. I can never thank her
enough for what she sacrificed for Daddy.
I’ve been in church all
my life and I’ve heard numerous speculations of what we can expect in
Heaven. Most theologians say that we will be so awed by God that
nothing else matters. I know that is true. But I do have
a hope for Daddy. I hope that Heaven has a little shop that is
filled with old worn out lawn mowers that Daddy can repair. I hope
he has all the tools he needs and that when he finishes his repair work, each
one will fire up and run like a sewing machine. That
sounds like heaven for Daddy.
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| 2017 |
Behold, children are a gift of the Lord,
The fruit of the womb is a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,
So are the children of one's youth.
How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.
Psalm
127 3-5a
