Frank and Jim

 

This last week my Mom, Wanda, and her sister, Virginia, both lost their husbands.  It happened one day apart and even though it wasn’t a total shock, it’s still hard to believe.

 

Frank is married to my Mom… I’m still saying he “is” married, because I believe they still are.  I know it says, Till Death do we part… but I think these two are going to be reunited and married in heaven.  They were so in love.  He and my Mom found each other again at their fiftieth Scott High school reunion.  The spark was still there.   I remember him saying that life is short and he didn’t want to spend any more time away from her.  It was sweet to see him pursue our Mom and convince her to move back to Kansas to marry him.  They had dated in school, but she ended up marrying my dad instead.  The day they were married he said “I’ve waited for this woman for fifty years!”    He swept her off her feet and loved her to pieces.  The two of them spoke their baby talk to each other and were just too cute together.  They would have done anything for each other.  Over the next dozen years, they celebrated grandchildren’s graduations and weddings and new great grandbabies born.  She decorated his home to make it more of her own, and he slowed down long enough to enjoy the flowers she planted.  Watching their love bloom and grow taught all of us more about what love really is.  It’s not just a high school crush, although they loved telling people they were high school sweethearts.  It’s about learning to live with someone new and adapt to their habits and favorite things, even when it’s something you don’t particularly like.  It’s about caring for each other as you begin to slow down and aren’t as strong as you once were, with the little rough edges, the doctor visits and hospital stays.

We always thought our Mom would be the first to go.  Frank just seemed larger than life.  He was so strong and self-sufficient.  He owned his own business and still ran it, took care of his land and garden, and could grill the most delicious meals you’d ever want to eat.  He had cared for his first wife, his Dad and his Mom until their deaths, and I guess I just figured he’d be the one taking care of our Mom too.  It gave us all a sense of peace to know that such a strong, healthy and loving man was looking after Mom.

So when Frank had surgery two months ago, we all knew he’d be out soon and back to his old self.   Sure he looked thinner, but he still sounded robust and assured us he’d be walking and out of the hospital before you knew it.  The last couple weeks, he still talked about needing to get back to work, but he also talked about wanting to come home and sit on the front porch with our mother.  He lit up every time she walked into the room and reached out to kiss her and hold her hand.  When he got the ventilator out after his last surgery, and he was able to talk again, he told her, “It’s lovely to hold your hand.”  What simple things he wanted at the end.  Just to sit on his front porch and hold her hand.

The last day he told me he was a few more steps down the path, and I could feel him slipping away.  A little less of the robust Frank was there each time we visited, but he still talked to us and tried to make sure we were all doing well.  He was still taking care of all of us.  He was taking care of her.   He waited until all four of her children were with her before he died.  I know he hated to leave, but I hope it made it easier knowing we were there.   I will remember his love and the light in his eyes when he looked at our mother.

Uncle Jim married my sweet Aunt Virginia when I was a little girl, in fact, my sister, Teresa and I, were their flower girls.  I always identified with Virginia, because she was a “career girl”.  She was a legal secretary and he was an attorney and at five, I thought that was really romantic.  Since her two sisters had married at age eighteen, she was whispered to be an old maid when she wasn’t yet married a decade later.  Jim was Italian and seemed dashingly handsome to me.  They were a perfect couple.  They always seemed so in love with each other and had a quiet, caring way with each other.  When I was little I remember hearing my parents say that they’d never had a single fight and wondered how big it would be when they did. I don’t know if they ever really had a fight.   I think they just each tried to make the other happy.  He worked hard in downtown Kansas City, and when he got home, she often would have already fed their three daughters and have a quiet romantic dinner for the two of them.

Jim worked hard and was a successful attorney, but what he was most proud of was his family.  He loved his daughters and spent lots of time with their grandchildren and great grandchildren.  Once I asked him if he was glad he retired at such a young age, and he said it was the best decision he’d ever made.  He bought a farm when the girls were little and they’d spend weekends working together as a family.    I always admired that.

Jim and Virginia would host big family reunions on that farm.  They’d organize it and everyone would pitch in.  Their daughter and her daughter are now living on that farm and one nearby.  I remember the affection between Jim and Virginia and the quiet way they worked as a team.  The last time I visited, Alzheimers was taking it’s toll on him.  The once confidant, and even opinionated man, was unsure at times and he looked to her for answers.  But what wasn’t lost, was their love.  Virginia had taken up painting again, and he showed us her room full of beautiful paintings.  His face lit up and you could see how proud he was of Virginia.  You could still see the love between them in her patience and the way they looked at each other.

Two love stories, two shining examples of such kind and strong men.  We will keep you in our hearts and remember the way you treated your wives.  Remember how the simple joys in life shared with the one you love are the best.  Missing you, Frank and Jim.