The Passing of a Legend - Andy Griffith

Andy Griffith - June 1, 1926 – July 3, 2012

      As I watched a rerun of Matlock, starring Andy Griffith, I heard he had died. I felt I had lost a dear friend, even though I never had the chance to meet him.

      I'll never forget my first "introduction" to him, a recording of "What It Was, Was Football." 

      As the sheriff of Mayberry, he made viewers feel that a place of safety did exist.

          Andy, a talented, intelligent, and gifted man, graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (North Carolina) with a bachelor of music degree. He taught English for a few years and began to write.

      His talent led him to movies, Broadway, and television. Though his roles often had him play a "country boy," his characters had an underlying level of shrewdness. A Grammy winning gospel singer, often his shows gave him a chance to show his musical talent, too. He directed and produced. Yes, Andy Griffith was multi-talented.


         After he left The Andy Griffith show and Mayberry in 1968, Andy spent time in rehabilitation because Guillain-Barré syndrome left his legs paralyzed. However, he returned to television in 1986 as Matlock, which lasted nine seasons.

        Rest in Peace, Andy, we will miss you.Your shows and characters gave us hope, and nothing I've even read or heard about you make me think your life didn't give the world the same hope.

        

Christmas, the Season of Sorrow, the Season of Joy

          Christmas, for many, means a time of sorrow. Perhaps it's the first Christmas without a loved one, or they lost someone around the holiday. Perhaps the family doesn't have funds to feed or clothe their children, much less provide a gift or two. Some people may be far from home and family, such as our military or others who are estranged whether through their own actions or not. Whatever the reason, Christmas means sadness and loneliness for those people.

          I can "hear" people wondering what do I know about the subject, how could I begin to understand? I can and I do.

          In a few days, the birthday of my youngest will arrive. A day later the day of her death. Both happened just a few days before Christmas, my favorite time of the year. My father passed away Christmas night, alone. My grandmother left us right after Christmas. My mother's death came shortly before Christmas. My family is scattered all over the place, and/or are spread across other branches of their growing families. We have little in the way of income, a greater amount of outgo. We do have a roof over our heads, barely, but with help, the patches hold. Neither my husband nor I are in good health. Ha! We'd be happy to be in fair health.

          So, yes, we have reasons to dread the Christmas season, to find it a time of sorrow. However, and this is the important point, we have reason for joy.

          I'll always have a bit of a hole in my heart for my infant daughter, lost so long ago, but she has a home in Heaven and a grandmother with her. I know they are enjoying being together, all three: the baby, my mother, and her mother. What a marvelous Christmas season they have each year.

          No, I've not had my family all together in over twenty years, maybe longer, and some day I pray we will be without it being a funeral. However, I know where everyone is, where for over thirteen years I didn't know if one grandson and one granddaughter even lived.

          My health and Robert's physical conditions are far from being good or near comfortable, but we're still alive and able to do some of the things we enjoy. Robert is alive and not badly injured after escaping a fire that destroyed his van and nearly new power chair. We can't replace that wonderful chair, but friends provided one that works.

          We have food to put on the table, even if we can't provide fancy-wrapped gifts. We can give tokens of our love to grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and we always give them our love.

          Most of all, Christmas is a season of joy because God sent His Son as a baby, giving us hope and love and the peace that passes all understanding.

          Merry Christmas. May the Peace and Joy of the season flood your hearts and lives.

Life goes on

Yes, life goes on, some times even when we don't know why or how. Brain cells don't always help, just a thick layer of bubble wrap.

A dear friend of mine fought cancer for nearly three years, and I do mean fought. She wasn't the first, just the latest, who left friends and family behind. As I attended her memorial service Tuesday night, I remembered the last time I visited with her.

Judy had gone to stay with her daughter in south Texas. She was unable to care for herself, and of Judy's four children, Jonna was the one who was able to be with her.

I called about a month ago, and Jonna held the phone to Judy's ear. Some moans and struggling sounds were all I could hear because my friend couldn't talk. However I told her I loved her and I said my goodbye's, telling her I'd see her again some day. Jonna told me that Judy smiled and understood me and that she tried to talk so badly. I cried that day for my friend, knowing I'd never be able to talk to her again or see her again, at least on this earth.

Judy held on for three weeks, unable to eat, most of the time in a comma. Her daughter and son-in-law went to bed each night expecting to see her gone when they awoke each morning. The morning before Judy died, Jonna went to her room and, as always, asked, "How are you, Mom."

Judy smiled and answered, "I'm fine." Her first words in such a long time. For the rest of the day, she was without pain. In the wee hours of the next day, she no longer felt pain of any kind.

At the memorial, I held Judy's youngest two daughters as they cried. Justina, the next to the youngest, introduced me as her second mother. Tonnie, the wife of Judy's only son, gave me a beautiful embroidred hanky, created by her to give to the special people in Judy's life.

I sit here crying again, but even though I'll miss her, I know she's fine now. Life goes on for her family and friends, just missing an important component. But Judy's smile and laugh will be with us forever.

Judy was my friend and always will be. I'll be fine, too, just don't want to lose any more friends. True friends are few and far between.