Yesterday my daughter called me to tell me that her father-in-law had passed away in the VA hospital in Durham NC. He was in an awful vehicle accident on Mother's Day 2012. He was coming home with a card and a flower for his wife when he met someone driving farm equipment on the narrow, country road leading him home. There was not enough room and he had nowhere to go to be safe. He has spent all the time since that moment in hospital and desperately sick. I grew sick at my stomach when I got the call about the accident. I love my daughter's in-laws. I respect them. I feel loved by them. I have always been proud to know them.
Ron, his name, was a Viet Nam veteran who left a young wife and a young marriage to serve in Viet Nam. When I first met him I quickly learned that he suffered from PTSD and he had MS. The government admitted that the Agent Orange Ron found himself in during his days in Viet Nam was responsible for his MS. Over the past 20 years or so I have watched him evolve with the spirit of a true warrior and the strength of the love of an amazing woman. He became mellower, more loving, king of a large family and good friend to many, many others. He was argumentative, loved to play the adversary in conversations of politics, often spent time in his man cave, fought the local townspeople for the rights of access for disabled people and, most importantly, maintained a moral compass that I came to treasure. Like me, Ron was a character. I was not his wife. I am sure caring for him was often difficult and not always met with a thank you or I appreciate you. The love his wife showed him taught me a great deal about sacrificial love and also about building a life for yourself in whatsoever circumstances you find yourself. Did I mention that I loved this man? Love his family. Feel a deep, deep hole in my heart at this moment. I miss him already. I miss the idea of him. I miss the imaginings of him living on his property in the country near a small Virginia town and giving each of his three children land for their own homes if they so chose. I miss looking forward to breakfast with him at a local place on the day I would leave my daughter's and head home. I loved to rile him up and I miss that I can't do that now. Did I mention that I loved this man? Love him still. I honor and admire and I salute Ron Goodwin. I'm leaving for Virginia tomorrow to pay my respects to spend time with the family I have come to call my own and to love on my sister in Christ, Dianne Goodwin, as she says good-bye and I'll see you later in heaven, honey!
Death is not real to me. I often, despite the obvious reality, believe I could drive by my grandparent's place, gaze down the lane and see the lights on in their home, make the right turn onto the lane, park and step onto their back porch eagerly awaiting their hugs and love. I still see my other Grandmother sitting in her living room years after my grandfather passed. In my mind's eye I believe I could drive by her house on Christmas Tree Road, pull into the circular driveway, enter into the living room to find her in her chair. And most of all, I cannot shake the idea that my dad has simply gone for a long walk and I will come through mom's front door and see my Dad in his comfy chair reading a book and chewing tobacco.
I had a vision of my paternal grandfather some time after he passed away. In that vision my grandfather was walking across a large, green pasture. He was walking towards me. I did not recognize him at first. As he drew nearer I saw that it was my grandpa, he had on his farming clothes and he looked just as he had when he died but he was striding, nearly floating across the grass with an energy that defies description. His arms were swinging in rhythm with his steps, health seemed to flow from him in a way I have not seen on earth. The vision ended. I thought to myself how I would never wish my grandpa alive on this earth for even one second. Not after what I saw in that vision. And, today, knowing what I know now, I rejoice that Ron Goodwin is free of a body that suffered to serve him well. He is bursting with energy, filled with joy, possessed with a gift that only those who have crossed over can know. Ron Goodwin, I loved you well, my brother in Christ. I salute you and yearn for the day when we will meet again. I love you.
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