Dawn Phelps
Columnist
Richard, my late brother-in-law from Lexington, Kentucky, was a master builder. He and his friend Jim owned a building company that erected large buildings such as hospitals, schools, and buildings on the University of Kentucky campus.
Richard also was a lover of books. For many years, he read aloud to my sister Joy at bedtime. Together they read many, many books, and Joy called their reading time “bonding time.”
So, it really was no surprise that Richard was very descriptive and eloquent with words. He also liked to write, and from time to time, Richard would email an article he had written to Tom and me. He referred to his writing as his “musings” and never realized his musings would later become our treasures.
After Richard had a stroke a few months before his death, I searched for my folder with his stories. Then I began typing them, working furiously, so I could preserve them. I combined them into a forty-page memory book of Richard’s writing. I had his stories bound into a booklet that I named Seasons.
After his death, the booklets were distributed to his close family members and friends at his funeral, and the pastor who spoke at his funeral read two of Richard’s “musings” at his service.
So, in essence, Richard wrote part of his own eulogy! One piece was about II Chronicles 7:14 and the other was his memory of his and my sister’s 54th anniversary and their trip to Shakertown, Kentucky. I cried when I typed the story—his love for my sister Joy showed through so vividly!
Richard left behind a legacy in his stories. For instance, there was a story of his first day at school; how molasses is made in the South, using the old methods that he learned from his grandpa; his remembrances of Pearl Harbor; his springtime memories in Kentucky and Richard’s thoughts about Andy Griffiths.
Looking back, I believe Richard knew he was in his final season of life since he had been battling cerebella ataxia for several years prior to his stroke. Perhaps he was reviewing his life as he wrote, gently getting ready to turn loose in this world for a better one.
After his funeral, my sister Joy allowed me to bring home more stories Richard had written—she too had a special folder for his writing tucked away. I put together another memory book named Seasons II that was shared with family and friends.
That book contained stories about what Christmas was like for Richard as a young boy; about his first date with my sister Joy; one about how his grandparents made maple syrup in the spring by tapping maple trees; how his grandmother cooked some of the sap down into syrup and made some into maple candy which he said was so good.
He told the story of how he and my sister hiked up Wilderness Road in the Appalachian Mountains where Kentucky, Tennessee, and West Virginia come together—how he and Joy planted their feet in Kentucky and one hand each in Tennessee and West Virginia, so they could say they were in three states at the same time (and they were). There are stories about the history of Jesse James and the Hatfields and McCoys.
And there is a special “musing” about our family trip with my siblings and husbands to Alaska in 2009. By then, he was having some trouble walking, but he was so grateful to be able to go on the trip and see such beautiful scenery and wildlife! He described the trip on paper and verbally after we were home!
After Richard’s stroke, he never penned another story, but he had already written two memories about my late husband Ralph that I will someday share in a book. So, Richard’s stories were special gifts for his wife and family.
It is never too soon for any of us to start writing. It need not be perfect, just get started and write—the thoughts will come! Then someday, like Richard, you could leave behind a legacy in words for those who love you.
