F
Field Ethos
Guest
By Kyle Wright
It is fascinating to me what goes through a man’s mind when he is preparing to meet his Maker. Due to the nature of my work, I have found myself on multiple occasions standing at the bedside of those facing their final moments. Of course, there comes a time when pain or exhaustion prevents a person from articulating much of anything, but I have heard and seen all kinds of things before that moment comes. I have heard deathbed confessions. I have witnessed outpourings of love for family and friends. I have seen fear and uncertainty written across the faces of those transitioning from this life to the next, but I have seen relief, too, and acceptance. As I stood at the foot of my father’s hospital bed next to my mother and my two older brothers, I braced myself for any or all of that. Dad, though, had something else in mind.
“First of all, I want to say that all I own in the world belongs to your mother and she’s free to do with it as she pleases, but I would like you boys to have something to remember me by.”
As if the love he’d shown us and the faith he’d instilled in us wasn’t enough. As if the integrity he’d modeled for us and the sense of humor he’d passed down to us was somehow lacking. I know lots of sons have complicated relationships with their fathers, but I’m not one of them. Not by a long shot. My dad was one in a million.
“As you boys know, I’ve got a few guns.”
My dad was a deer hunter, but he was a gun lover too, so there were more than just centerfire rifles in his safe. There were muzzleloaders and shotguns. A couple of pistols in the bedside table. A carbine in the corner of the bedroom.
“I don’t have any rifles that are terribly valuable, but they’re all dialed in and every one of them will kill a deer. I’d like Kerry to have the 22 rifle that belonged to my daddy. I think it ought to go to my oldest son. After that, I‘ve been thinking that you boys might split up my guns in serpentine fashion. Kerry, the oldest, then Kevin, then Kyle. Round Two would have Kyle getting first pick, then Kevin and so on.”
It was at that point that my brother, Kevin, wishing, as I was, that we weren’t having this conversation, made some wisecrack about being the middle child and never getting first choice of anything. He was trying to lighten the mood, but dad went on like he hadn’t heard him.
“I’ve got three Winchester Model 70s, and I think it would be cool if each of you boys had one of those. Y’all go kill a deer with those rifles and think of your old man. There’s that Thompson/Center Encore. I can’t even remember now what barrels I have for it. I know there’s a blackpowder barrel and a .270. There’s a handful of other rifles and pistols and shotguns.”
“I have some nice knives — most of them you boys bought for me. And I don’t know how in the world I wound up with so many binoculars. Each of you take a pair or two of those. I guess you boys can divvy up all my camping stuff, but if you’d rather, just leave it all together and use it when you go. I’d love y’all to keep camping after I’m gone. We sure had some great deer camps, didn’t we?”
Dad continued on, but I was lost in memory, thinking about the weather we’d endured and the food we’d eaten and the conversations we’d had sitting around the campfire at deer camp through the years. There were even a few deer to remember. Dad’s chocolate-racked eight-pointer. The buck that Kerry killed in the middle of a monsoon. I enjoyed lots of moments with my dad, but our deer camps were my favorite. Probably because next to sitting beside his wife in worship, it was his favorite place to be.
“One of you boys should drive my pickup. It’s still in good shape. There’s some money if mom doesn’t wind up needing it. Some fossils and some arrowheads. Some coins. Let me see, I’m trying to think if there’s anything else. I’m sorry, boys. I don’t guess I have just a whole lot to leave you.”
Again, I was lost in thought, thinking that I’d give all the rifles and fossils and money in the world for just a few more days with my dad. It got quiet for a moment and then my brother Kevin spoke up again, giving voice to the thoughts in our heads and feelings in our hearts.
“Don’t worry about that now, dad. You’ve already given us all the best stuff.”
The post The Best Stuff appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
It is fascinating to me what goes through a man’s mind when he is preparing to meet his Maker. Due to the nature of my work, I have found myself on multiple occasions standing at the bedside of those facing their final moments. Of course, there comes a time when pain or exhaustion prevents a person from articulating much of anything, but I have heard and seen all kinds of things before that moment comes. I have heard deathbed confessions. I have witnessed outpourings of love for family and friends. I have seen fear and uncertainty written across the faces of those transitioning from this life to the next, but I have seen relief, too, and acceptance. As I stood at the foot of my father’s hospital bed next to my mother and my two older brothers, I braced myself for any or all of that. Dad, though, had something else in mind.
“First of all, I want to say that all I own in the world belongs to your mother and she’s free to do with it as she pleases, but I would like you boys to have something to remember me by.”
As if the love he’d shown us and the faith he’d instilled in us wasn’t enough. As if the integrity he’d modeled for us and the sense of humor he’d passed down to us was somehow lacking. I know lots of sons have complicated relationships with their fathers, but I’m not one of them. Not by a long shot. My dad was one in a million.
Passing Down Memories
“As you boys know, I’ve got a few guns.”
My dad was a deer hunter, but he was a gun lover too, so there were more than just centerfire rifles in his safe. There were muzzleloaders and shotguns. A couple of pistols in the bedside table. A carbine in the corner of the bedroom.
“I don’t have any rifles that are terribly valuable, but they’re all dialed in and every one of them will kill a deer. I’d like Kerry to have the 22 rifle that belonged to my daddy. I think it ought to go to my oldest son. After that, I‘ve been thinking that you boys might split up my guns in serpentine fashion. Kerry, the oldest, then Kevin, then Kyle. Round Two would have Kyle getting first pick, then Kevin and so on.”
It was at that point that my brother, Kevin, wishing, as I was, that we weren’t having this conversation, made some wisecrack about being the middle child and never getting first choice of anything. He was trying to lighten the mood, but dad went on like he hadn’t heard him.
“I’ve got three Winchester Model 70s, and I think it would be cool if each of you boys had one of those. Y’all go kill a deer with those rifles and think of your old man. There’s that Thompson/Center Encore. I can’t even remember now what barrels I have for it. I know there’s a blackpowder barrel and a .270. There’s a handful of other rifles and pistols and shotguns.”
“I have some nice knives — most of them you boys bought for me. And I don’t know how in the world I wound up with so many binoculars. Each of you take a pair or two of those. I guess you boys can divvy up all my camping stuff, but if you’d rather, just leave it all together and use it when you go. I’d love y’all to keep camping after I’m gone. We sure had some great deer camps, didn’t we?”
The Best Stuff
Dad continued on, but I was lost in memory, thinking about the weather we’d endured and the food we’d eaten and the conversations we’d had sitting around the campfire at deer camp through the years. There were even a few deer to remember. Dad’s chocolate-racked eight-pointer. The buck that Kerry killed in the middle of a monsoon. I enjoyed lots of moments with my dad, but our deer camps were my favorite. Probably because next to sitting beside his wife in worship, it was his favorite place to be.
“One of you boys should drive my pickup. It’s still in good shape. There’s some money if mom doesn’t wind up needing it. Some fossils and some arrowheads. Some coins. Let me see, I’m trying to think if there’s anything else. I’m sorry, boys. I don’t guess I have just a whole lot to leave you.”
Again, I was lost in thought, thinking that I’d give all the rifles and fossils and money in the world for just a few more days with my dad. It got quiet for a moment and then my brother Kevin spoke up again, giving voice to the thoughts in our heads and feelings in our hearts.
“Don’t worry about that now, dad. You’ve already given us all the best stuff.”
The post The Best Stuff appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
