I Can Only Imagine

Brenda, Steve, Frank, Sharon, and Penny

I met Ron almost exactly a year ago, the time Penny and I flew out to Orlando to unite with family she'd discovered through Ancestry. Now we're in Moncks Corner, South Carolina, for his memorial. Just seventy years old, he fell and hurt his head last November. Three days later, he was gone. I know very little about him. He loved fishing for catfish. And cherries. The problem with winter is that there's no cherries. Loved his dog, Bailey. Reunited with his kids, making up for years of lost time. A Vietnam vet who came home, yet never knew peace. He had a big, loving family. Parents, siblings, kids. Not even love can save us, sometimes.

Let's talk about Frank. Frank turned 89 on the first of March. We celebrated on the river at Gilligan’s, Ron’s favorite, where you can order low country stir fry while Frank messes with the gag dinosaur that shoots plastic eggs out its butt.

Frank raised seven out of Marian’s eight kids. He would've raised Penny, too, he's that kind of guy. He wasn't technically everyone’s father, but according to Steve, he (Steve) didn't even know what a step kid was till he was in ninth grade.

How's a father like Frank able to handle the loss of yet another one of his children? He's lost four of them. My God. He talks about his kids, and he talks about his life, his time in the Navy. He served from the early 50s till the early 70s. Two of his boys, Rick and Ron, served in Vietnam. Frank volunteered to go, too, but he was declined because he knew too much, and they couldn’t chance him getting captured. Frank insisted he really didn’t know much, and that if he was captured, he’d just end up confusing his captors. But the higher ups replied that he was “exposed” to too much, and that was the end of it.

Relatives and friends showed up from all over the country. Florida, the Carolinas, Nebraska, California. Ron was buried with military honors.

Frank and I toured the USS Yorktown today. Those stairs are a bitch, but Frank kept up. Going up, going down. Frank beat cancer six times. Exposed to a lot of radiation in the nuclear Navy. He told me about welding in very tight corners on subs, burning his face. Having to know details like what number that valve is. Hell, Frank even knew the nine digit serial number of the anchor.

So much love, so much heartbreak in this family. Everybody’s got each other’s back. They fight like hell, sometimes. Frank answers a call in the Yorktown restroom. One of the grandkids needing advice. Frank is generous with good advice. I’m guessing he was wise even before he was old and wise. It just comes naturally to him, through a wealth of experience like working on the neighbor’s farm by the time he was seven.

I hope Frank gets a long reprieve from any more heartache, and that he’ll be sharing more stories with me soon.