To Absent Companions

As some of you know, this has not been a good year in the cave. First, Papa Bear died. Then, shirttail relations caused so much fuss about some of our posts that we had to move from the West Facing Cave to the Westward Facing Cave. The tipping point for the year occurred today when Little Ann, official mascot of the WFC, had to be put to sleep. She had cancer and, while she would have fought it to the bitter end, deserved better than debilitation and pain that inevitably would have come. I will talk more about her later, but this is more about absent companions.

When military men gather, there is a ritual toast "to absent companions and fallen comrades." Although not part of the ritual, the moments following the toast are always given to very quiet reflection as the missing parade in memory. By the time I got back to the cave from work I was thinking about absent companions and fallen comrades. I poured a shot of aquavit and a glass of beer, walked out onto the balcony and toasted those absent companions.

There are people in your life that you don't truly appreciate until they are gone. For me, the list is relatively short.

Papa Bear. As I said after he died, I was very fortunate to spend time with my father when I was young and more fortunate to be able to spend a little time with him in the years before he died. Although it was never said, I think he knew how much he meant to me.

My father in law, Robert Grismore, was a quiet, unassuming man, a dependable man, a friendly man, the sort of man that people don't truly appreciate until they see the size of the hole left in their lives after he is gone. He could and would talk to anyone and was truly interested in what they had to say. I knew him for almost 40 years and never saw him lose his temper. He could always be counted on to do the right thing. It is hard to think of him as being gone.

My grandfather, W. A. Vance, was the finest man I have ever met. Born in the 19th century, he was a stoic, hard working farmer with an incredibly dry sense of humor. He was the epitome of a Christian gentleman. I never heard him say an unkind word about anyone nor saw him do an unkind thing. No matter what life brought him, he got up each morning and did what needed to be done. I wish that I could have been more like him.

My great uncle Junius Vance was the baby of his family and had an infectious sense of humor. Although he was relatively short, he was incredibly strong. I used to watch him heft 12o pound bales of clover over his head with his left hand to stack the bales during haying season. Uncle June improved the mood of any room he entered.

My great uncle, Joseph Vance, was gruff out of necessity. His heart was so tender that he had to shield it with a crusty exterior. I always liked him.

Standing on the balcony, seeing their faces one by one, I knew my life was better for having known them and that I would always miss them.

To absent companions.