by Janis Hammett

"You know, I loved my Mother dearly, but I was my Daddy’s girl; and even if Daddy had not just passed, to look out and see all of you here would bring me to tears. I know you’re here because you loved my Daddy too and that just means the world to all of us. You may notice that I’m not wearing black because the time for tears, the time for tears of sadness, is gone. Daddy suffered a lot in the last few years and now he’s not suffering any more and I just appreciate so much all of you coming to celebrate that here with us today.

"When my sisters and I were young, we never thought our Daddy was a special person.

"We didn’t know that everybody didn’t get up an extra hour early on Sunday morning to go over to Taylor’s First Baptist to reserve a handicapped parking space for a paraplegic friend’s van. We didn’t know that everyone’s father didn’t give up their weekday afternoons to tutor a little seven year old boy who was having difficulty learning to read; and grow and give away truck loads of turnip greens to half of Greenville County when he didn’t even like turnip greens. We just thought everybody’s father was like that. Daddy was just that sort of a man; and he married a woman like himself. He chose friends like that, so how were we to know? We grew up in a world of good people and never knew the difference until many years later. It was a generous and giving world that we grew up in.

"You probably know, Daddy yearned for a son; but his world was full of little girl stuff. So I was just thinking back over my childhood and some of the… so many things that came to my mind, but just a few of them I’ll share with you:  Aunt Eula’s old corn crib transformed into a grand playhouse for little girls that was way too small for grown folk to fit into. We had darn near a whole acre planted with my favorite vegetable (that being watermelon) every summer. We’d go out every afternoon and get us a big old watermelon and eat the middle out of it and toss the rest of it.  I know we had the world’s longest rope swing hung from the world’s oldest and tallest oak tree, and we had an almost full-time swing pusher named Gene Hammett. I remember summer evenings spent hand churning South Carolina’s most delicious ice cream made from peaches hand picked in peck baskets in Palmer Dillard’s orchard down the road and from ice that we drove to Greer and bought at the “Ice House”. Bedtime stories began with “when I was a little girl”… and were invariably followed with a chorus of “Daddy, you were never a little girl!” We picked blackberries left growing at the edge of an otherwise perfectly manicured lawn, so thick you could only pick around the edges.  We cut our very own cedar Christmas tree from the woods right behind the house and then we had our own fireworks on New Year’s Day when we exploded that tree in the burning barrel. Daddy always gave us a little lesson on pyromania on New Year’s Day. And then there was  fishing at the giant ghost tree in the middle of Lake Hartwell lit by a Coleman lantern with what looked to me as a little girl like burning baby booties hanging inside of it; and not even caring that that went back to Aunt Lois’ cabin empty-handed most of the time. Saturday afternoons splashing in Silver Lake and listening to “Your Cold, Cold Heart”, one of Daddy’s other favorite songs. Growing up living on a road with the same name as ours; walking through the woods and across the hay fields to Uncle Harold’s pond just hoping those mean looking cows didn’t stampede before we got through, helping Gummie get her hen’s eggs, Gummie was our Grandmother, that’s the name that got started for her, helping her get her hen’s eggs out of the barn praying we wouldn’t get eaten alive by that big old sow over in the corner. It was a magical world and Daddy was our magician.

"Daddy was an exceptionally loving man, but for a large portion of his life he kind of kept people at a distance. He was loving and open, but for us as girls, we never got quite as close to him as we wanted to. For most of our lives a hug meant this kind of thing (gesture indicating a sideways, arms-around-the-shoulder kind of hug). He had his ways of letting us know that he loved us, but words of endearment were not Daddy’s thing. Hearing all that you’ve heard up til’ now you might think “Well, how does this fit?” But Daddy sort of changed in the last years of his life. Most of you know Daddy suffered with Parkinson’s disease and he had dementia as a part of that. One of the blessings of what was a terrible disease was that Daddy sort of let go of some of his protective mechanisms that he’d carried with him over the years. He sort of blossomed there at the nursing home.  He used to smile very carefully so that he didn’t show what he saw as his crooked teeth. Almost every picture we have of him has hardly any smile at all. The only two pictures we have of Daddy smiling are fishing, a fishing rod in his hand. But you know as Daddy’s disease progressed he changed and he became known for his wide lopsided grin. If you hadn’t seen him in recent years you just wouldn’t recognize that as the sort of reserved Gene Hammett that we used to know.  He learned how to give a real hug, and every phone call; I used to call him once or twice a day because I didn’t get to come down more that once or twice a month, every phone call ended with “I love you, Janis. Thank you for calling me.” He became the belle of the ball at Brighton Gardens. He had been in all three levels of care there and staff from all over the place starting stopping in to pay their respects and we just heard so many sweet comments from the nurses and the CNAs and other staff about how much Daddy had meant to them. The Head Nurse said Daddy was her welcoming committee for new admissions. If the newbie were afraid, she would take him or her to Daddy. He would comfort them and make them feel at home.  Another nurse said Daddy just sort of grabbed her heart and wouldn’t let go. He was so lonely during those long nights when he couldn’t sleep and she would just come in and sit with him while she did her paperwork.  She said you couldn’t help but get aggravated because he was on that call button all night long, but she also said you couldn’t stay mad with him because you would always leave his room laughing. She and I sat on either side of his bed one night and cried to see him in such a difficult state.  Daddy just sort of became a people magnet. When word got out that Daddy was declining a flood of folks starting coming by to check on him, reminisce, and share tales or their experiences with him. I mean, how many people in their late 80’s do you know who could be closeted in a skilled nursing facility for 2 ½ years and end up with more friends than he started with??? That takes a special gift. If clouds could have silver linings, Daddy’s illness did offer a gift to us as his daughters, in that we had a closeness with him that we never had before.  Although, it has been painful to see Daddy suffer these last months, I am grateful for the time he and I had together to soften old misunderstandings and remember kinder times.

"Phyllis and Leisa and I grew up on Hammett Road on the edges of the Hammett Family Farm. We played under centuries old oak trees whose graceful limbs sheltered us from a world much harsher than our own. Those old trees are gradually succumbing to the elements. I guess I see Daddy as like those sheltering angel oaks. His influence spread far beyond his shadow and enriched the world far beyond his own humble knowing. I can only hope to leave a legacy like that of Gene Hammett’s.

"I can’t finish this story without expressing gratitude to a lot of people.  Leisa and I feel very grateful for the sacrifices Phyllis and Jim have made over the past three years to care for Mother and Daddy. Phyllis went from a full time job educating and loving children to a full time job as nurse, chaplain, financial manager, transporter, therapist, errand girl and 24 hour on-call service. Daddy lost his sense of time early on and he would call Phyllis frequently and at all hours of the day and night, as Jim can attest. She was always there for him, and Jim was too. They both have huge loving and generous hearts.

"We are also enormously grateful to all of you, not only for being here today, but for all the phone calls that you made, all the cards that you sent, all the visits, all the songs that you sang with Daddy, the prayers that you prayed for and with Daddy. Especially for what Daddy called his “Tuesday night group”. It was a group of people that never even knew Daddy before that would come every Tuesday night and sing and pray with Daddy. It just meant the world to Daddy; all that all of you here and all who couldn’t be here today have done for him.  My cousin Sarah’s husband Donnie even snuck Daddy out of the nursing home and took him fishing a few months ago. One of his last hurrah’s!

"I also want to thank Charlie Wegman. Daddy never had a son and Charlie lost his daddy early. They sort of adopted each other and formed a special bond. I just thank you for the time that you gave Daddy.

"Daddy taught me a multitude of lessons over the course of my life. When I was little he taught me how to grow watermelons. I inherited my love of nature from Daddy.  When I was a young woman he taught me that I needed to be able to take care of myself and not necessarily depend on others. At the end of his life he taught me a different kind of lesson. I watched a fiercely independent man learn to accept assistance with grace. I saw that physical disability does not have to dampen a person’s spirit. I learned that love takes many forms, and one of the most loving actions is to be willing to just be with a person when they are suffering. Just be there when they are taking a nap and they wake up and know you are there. One other lesson I’ll share with you. On a Saturday night a couple of weeks before Daddy died we were watching ballroom dancing on 'The Lawrence Welk Show.' You know Daddy grew up as a strict Southern Baptist and dancing wasn’t allowed. Daddy looked at me and said, 'I wish I had taken your Mother dancing.'  I think we can be happy knowing that Mother and Daddy are probably dancing right now. If he were here this afternoon, I think he would tell us all to go out tomorrow and do what makes you happy because you may never have another chance.

"One of Daddy’s favorite songs was “You Are My Sunshine”. He used to sing it to us when we were little. He’d look you in the eye and you knew that you were his sunshine.  He and I took that song up again in recent months. He had gotten mighty skinny, but he would sit up straight in his recliner chair, take a deep breath and belt out that chorus like he thought that if he sang loud enough he just knew Mother would hear him. Please join me in singing the chorus in honor of Dot & Gene Hammett."

"'You are my Sunshine,

my only Sunshine.

You make me happy

when skies are blue.

You’ll never know dear,

how much I love you.

Please don’t take my Sunshine away.'

——————————

"Go find your sunshine."

–Janis Hammett, March 5^th, 2011, In Memory of Gene Hammett 2/17/1923 – 3/1/2011

My sister's eulogy gives testament to the fact that she was a year book editor and entered college to study journalism. Instead, science summoned her and she became a Pharm D. For now, this is the last of my Monday series, since my father's death. Plans are for the series to become an E-book, available here, on death, dying, aging and sandwiched children.