A Life Well Lived...

A few weeks ago, my beloved grandfather, Papa Joe, went to heaven.  I was blessed with the privilege of giving his eulogy...  He was such a special, hilarious and loving person -- to truly do him justice, someone who knew and loved him well needed to share his story.

I don't expect that many will read this in its entirety, if at all, but I did want to share it here -- mainly for myself.  I also share this because Papa Joe lived life to its fullest and we all can use a little encouragement about the fruit of a life well lived...

My Grandfather...

Joseph Duckworth
November 17, 1919 - September 20, 2013

First, on behalf of my family, I would like to thank you for joining us as we celebrate the life of my grandfather.

We are sincerely grateful for your kindness and sympathy during this difficult time.

Anyone who knew my grandfather would agree that he had an appreciation and love for life and people that made him a true joy to be around.

It is our hope, that as I share my family’s memories, everyone here today will experience that same joy my grandfather exuded every day of his life. 

Born almost 94 years ago in Newton County, MS, my grandfather, who I call Papa Joe, was the youngest child of Joseph and Bertha Duckworth. Together with his 3 older siblings, Papa Joe was raised in Jasper County, MS.  His father was a contractor and his family, though they were not wealthy, led a simple life and had all of their basic needs met.

My grandfather told the best stories about his childhood, describing the adventures he encountered as a young boy in Mississippi with his siblings, Elsie, Elizabeth and Milton.

Every Sunday, his family attended church, alternating between the Methodist and the Baptist Church depending on which church had a minister that Sunday, who was known at that time as a circuit rider.

It was on the pews of those country churches in Mississippi that the foundation of my grandfather’s deep faith in Christ was established.  Although he was by no means perfect, his sincere faith was at the core of who he truly was, shaping him into the man we all loved so dearly.

My grandfather graduated from High School as Valedictorian and then moved to Jackson, MS where he rented a room from the Berry sisters, two wealthy spinsters who adored my grandfather and introduced him to some of the finer things in life.  They also helped him land a job with Standard Oil Company where their father was a major stock owner.

In 1942, my grandfather enlisted in the Naval Reserves – where he eventually became a Flight Instructor and earned the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade.  While in the military, he lived all over the U.S. and was enrolled in Officer’s Candidate School.

He was always very proud of his time in the military, and rightfully so.  He once told me of his first solo flight as a naval pilot.  He described being in the air alone amongst the clouds as the most glorious experience of his life.  He said that he burst into laughter and just sang at the top of his lungs.

His naval career eventually brought him to Pensacola, FL.  On November 9, 1944, he attended a Cadet Dance at Barin Field in Foley, AL.  There, he met a petite, young blond named Martha Evans, who was bused over from Mobile with a group of her friends by the Women’s Club.

According to my grandfather, every man in the building wanted a chance to dance with Martha and kept cutting in on the two of them.

After the dance, my grandfather asked his roommate, "Did you see that cute little blond in the violet suit?  I’m going to marry her," he declared.

My grandfather apparently made quite an impression on my grandmother and her friends, as well.  “How bout that Joe Duckworth,” they exclaimed.  “He sure is smooth.”  My grandmother, who I call Mimi, was particularly impressed with his thick, wavy auburn hair.

The next weekend, which also happened to be my grandfather’s 25^th birthday, Joe hitchhiked from Pensacola to Mobile.  The weekend before he’d learned that Mimi’s mother was a music teacher named Mrs. Evans, so he went into a hotel in downtown Mobile and looked her up. 

By the time he’d arrived in Mobile, it was already 10:00 at night, which was much later than any “proper” woman would be seen in public with a man she’d just met. But after a lot of convincing, my grandmother finally agreed to let him take her for dinner that night.

They had what you could call a whirlwind romance.  In fact, by the end of their first date, Papa Joe impulsively asked my Mimi to marry him to which she replied, “Maybe.”

He kept asking and less than two months later, in January of 1945, they were officially engaged. Mimi began planning a traditional southern wedding.  But her planning stopped when Papa Joe said they needed to get married right away because he could be shipped out by the Navy at anytime.

So, a Baptist minister in Biloxi married my grandparents at a very small service on February 26, 1945.  The wedding was attended by the bride’s mother, her brother and his wife, and her nephew, Little Alan Jr.

The Happy Couple

One thing you may not know about my grandmother is that although she was very cute and sweet, she was also a world-class grudge-holder.  Of all the times I’ve heard this story told, it always ended with my Mimi saying:

“And did you know, he later he told me that he knew he wouldn’t be shipped over seas!  He just didn’t want a big wedding.”  Though they were happily married for 58 years, I can say with 100% certainty she never quite let go of that one.

By 1947, my grandparents moved to Mobile for good and shortly after welcomed their first child, my Uncle Dick, Joseph Dixon Duckworth, III.  Papa Joe loved being a father but often worked long hours.  By the time he came home, the baby would already be asleep.  SO, Papa Joe would wake up little Dickie to play with him.  According to my Mimi, Papa Joe would then hand him back to her so she could get him back to sleep while my grandfather ate his dinner.  As you can imagine, my Mimi wasn’t too fond this nightly routine. 

Over the next few years, my grandparent’s family continued to grow with the addition of Alice (my mother) and Jeanne (my aunt and the self-proclaimed favorite).  To accommodate their expanding family, the Duckworths built a home in Sky Ranch, the home where they raised their family and lived for the next 46 years.

My grandfather was a hard working businessman who spent the majority of his professional life in some form of sales and marketing. Though his job was demanding, he always found a way to put family first.

Additionally, he served on the board of various community organizations and was an active member of Dauphin Way Methodist Church since 1947 where he sang in the choir, taught Sunday School and even led the church’s Boy Scout Troop for a number of years.

Although he was very responsible and had an outstanding work ethic both in and out of the home, my grandfather was also known for his dry wit and adventurous spirit.

As a father, he sang silly songs, and would drape a sheet across the living room doorway to create a shadow puppet theater, and was known for planning the best birthday parties for his children as they grew up.

Once, my grandfather walked over with his children to see their friend Bobbie’s brand new tree house. All of the neighborhood children took turns swinging down little Bobbie’s brand new zip line, as did my grandfather.  Apparently he had a little too much fun, because Bobbie’s mother came out and said, “Bobbie, I’m trying to take a nap!  You kids be quiet.” “Yes ma’am,” Bobbie answered.  “I’ll tell Mr. Joe to stop yelling so loudly.”

My grandfather was completely uninhibited.  Some evenings, he would take his young daughters dancing in the Delchamps' parking lot, and he enjoyed getting out of his car at the drive-in movies to sing, So Long, Farwell, to the other cars after the movie had ended. 

Despite his sense of humor, my grandfather had very high expectations of his children, expecting them to always do their best in school and to never embarrass him. 

Once, as young teenagers, Dickie, Alice and Jeanne didn’t quite meet this expectation.  One evening, while my grandparents were entertaining some distinguished out-of-town visitors, the Duckworth children entertained themselves by seeing how many grapes they could fit into my mother, Alice’s mouth.  Dick and Jeanne had successfully stuffed 47 grapes into my mother’s mouth when the kitchen door opened and in walked my grandfather and his guests.  Needless to say, my mother started laughing and grapes went everywhere.  Apparently they got a stern “talking to” later that evening.

But, in all fairness, perhaps my grandfather earned this somewhat uncomfortable moment with his guests.  He loved to get a rise out of his easily embarrassed teenagers.  He intentionally called Jeanne’s dates by the wrong name.  If Bob knocked at the door, my grandfather would shake his hand and say, "Hi, John!  Nice to see you again!" 

He would also ride his umbrella like a horse down the isle of the grocery store or pretend to “melt” when walking with his daughters in the mall.  Once, in a crowded elevator he turned to his son Dick, and loudly said, “Honestly, Marilyn!  I wish you’d stop dressing so masculinely!”

He also loved to tease my grandmother.  She was so serious and though they were married for 58 years, she could never quite tell when he was putting her on.

Unlike many “comedians”, my grandfather had no problem expressing his love toward his family – and especially my grandmother, his beloved Martha.  He was very romantic and would often surprise her with a dress he saw while downtown that brought her to mind.  He never forgot a birthday or anniversary, and over the course of their life together bought my grandmother fur coats, perfume and more jewelry than she knew what to do with!

"Happy Talk"

My grandfather loved all of life, and I may be slightly biased in saying this, but I truly believe, nothing brought him more joy than being a grandpa.  I know he would be so proud to have his entire family here, especially all five of his grandchildren – Chris, Lauren, Andy, Jeffrey and, of course, his favorite, me. 

We all believed we were his favorite.  Sure, we know that he at one time or another may have told his other grandchildren that they were his favorite, but we all believe he REALLY meant it when he said it to us!

My cousins, my older sister Lauren and I have the best memories of our grandfather.   He seemed to have an endless list of fun ways to spend time with his grandchildren.  He taught us songs, read us Uncle Remus stories and Pipi Longstocking, and entertained us for countless hours by telling us stories about his childhood.

He was known to make us a fancy breakfast on my grandparent’s screened in porch using my Mimi’s finest china, crystal and silver, which made Mimi a nervous wreck.  He would also dress my sister and me (and sometimes my cousin, Andy) in my Mimi’s evening gowns AND her nicest jewelry.

He would then make all of the adults in the family sit in the living room as we had a fashion show or sang songs for them.  One time, he decided that we were going to put on a Christmas pageant for our parents. And true to form, he played the role of the “ass” that Mary rode into Bethlehem.

My Mimi and Papa Joe would, and did, do almost anything if they knew it would make us happy, whether it was standing in line at Toy’s R Us so we could have some hard to find item for Christmas that year or installing a swimming pool in the backyard.

My cousin Andy and I were talking over the weekend and agreed that “grandfather” seems somewhat lacking when naming the relationship that we had with our grandpa.  He was more fun than a dad, but more involved than a grandfather.  In many ways, he helped raise each of us and helped mold us into who we are today.

In the final years of his life, my grandfather’s health steadily declined and he seemed to face one physical ailment after another.  Perhaps the impairment that caused him the most angst was his significant hearing loss, which was a result of his years spent as a naval pilot.  This prevented him from being able to communicate with others, something that was truly devastating to a man who loved people as much as my grandfather did.

Papa Joe, Breanna and Joseph (his namesake) Easter 2013

Although his health prevented him from actively playing with his great-grandchildren the way he played with us, he still told them funny stories and made faces at them to make them laugh.

Last week, when my grandfather was admitted to the hospital, to be quite honest, I don’t think any of us were very alarmed.  Over the past few years, trips to the hospital had become pretty commonplace, and I assumed whatever the problem was, it would quickly be resolved.

However, this time things were different and he quickly took a turn for the worse.  I was actually out of town for work when I received the news that my beloved grandfather may not recover this time.  When I arrived back in town this past Thursday, I left the airport and went directly to the hospital, where Papa Joe was finally resting comfortably.

Throughout the day Friday, my grandfather was surrounded by his family, and as the day progressed, I began to accept that our time with him was quickly coming to an end.

I volunteered to stay with him Friday night, knowing in my heart that it wouldn’t be much longer.  For the first time all day, I was alone with my Papa Joe.  I was overcome with emotion as my mind was flooded with so many things I wanted to tell him but I couldn’t seem to find the words.  As I held my grandfather’s hand, I asked God to somehow let him know what I was feeling – what we all were feeling.

I rubbed his frail arms, kissed his soft forehead and told him we loved him so much.  I said, “It’s okay to let go if you are ready to rest.  You don’t have to keep fighting if you don’t want to.”

Minutes later, I had the privilege of standing by my grandfather’s bedside as he left this world and entered the next.  And in the midst of my sadness, I was comforted by the promise of heaven, the hope of all, who like my grandfather, put their faith in the finished work of Christ.

In that moment, I knew that for the first time in a long time Papa Joe was well and free from pain.  And as his soul soared into heaven, I remembered once again him telling me of his first solo flight all those years ago. I could only imagine the glorious joy my precious grandfather was experiencing as he joined the everlasting song of the Saints, singing: Worthy is the Lamb…

This weekend, my son, Joseph, asked me if Papa Joe left him anything in his will.  I smiled and told my son that I didn’t think that Papa Joe even had a will.  But since then, I now realize he left us an inheritance far greater and of more value than anything this world has to offer.

He left us his legacy.  A legacy of an impeccable work ethic – that always does its very best, no matter what task is at hand. A legacy of unconditional love, that chooses to see and believe the very best of all people, especially family. 

But most importantly, my grandfather, Joseph Dixon Duckworth, Jr. left a legacy of an authentic faith in God that was obvious in everything he did.  In the way he loved his wife and family, in the gratitude from which he lived each day of his life, and in the grace and mercy he chose to show everyone – That same grace and mercy that Christ so freely offers us today.

As I look into the faces of my grandfather’s children, his grandchildren, and even his great grandchildren, it is my prayer that by God’s grace, each one of us will live like he did, with our lives rooted in that same unwavering faith.