There are few who come into our lives and leave footprints on our hearts; few who leave us eternally marked with unspeakable impressions. For two such notable people this tribute is written. For two who have etched a profound love within our hearts; whether by a gentle touch, a kind reminder of betterment, or an unforgotten childhood memory. For two such people whose portion lies within each daughter, son, grandchild, and great-grandchild, we pay tribute, honor, love and devotion.
Each of us, some time or another in this life, encounter a great love story (happen upon it by chance). Some read of it, some witness it, and others actually have the fortune of partaking of it. No matter the sensory experience, it leaves us silent upon reflection, and emotionally touched forever. Let me remind you of one such love story; a story in which we all once viewed, when it came into being, as we dwelt in a holier, celestial sphere. I wish to write it as is was once written to me.
(Grandma Barber speaking in a letter):
“I am so glad he said ‘Yes’ when I said I thought we ought to get married over the Easter Holiday. It was then he could get the car, without arousing any suspicions, because it was accustomed for all the teenagers to get their parents car to go to the dance on Saturday day night, and then stay up all night to see the sunrise services in the ‘Garden of the Gods.’ (Parents expected that to happen because we had done it for a long time). At the time I was working and living with the people I worked for, in Colorado Springs. I only went home on weekends. The people I worked for were in on ‘it’ (the wedding plans), and helped us all they could. We had to get blood tests, so I called my doctor that my folks had used once, and made an appointment to have him do the tests one evening. He was more than willing, surprise---I didn’t expect it to be so easy. Poor grandpa, the doctor had a terrible time finding any veins in his arm where he could get any blood. I felt awful sitting and watching him.
I took the day off on Good Friday and rode the bus into Canon City (about an hour from Colorado Springs) to get a marriage license. I know Heavenly Father was helping us all the way, because Canon City was a Catholic town and every office closed up at noon…I got to the license office five minutes before they closed—WHEW! I picked Canon City because I didn’t suppose there would be anyone who would know me there. Little did I know one of Grandpas brothers wife’s brother lived there, and they would know our names when they appeared in the daily paper, but they missed it!-----I got the flowers, and ordered our rings from Montgomery Ward. I had lots of help from my boss and his wife, and the other three gals that worked with me. We got a Presbyterian Minister to marry us at eight o’clock Easter morning. Later we went and picked up Howard’s mom for church, and no one suspected a thing, except my little sis, and Grandpas little brother…they felt something special had happened. Granddad and Grandma Barber had found out but didn’t say anything to my folks, and we got away with keeping it pretty much a secret from April 5 until the first of June, when I went home one weekend. We had waited until Grandpa graduated from high school (that was all he wanted before we told everyone), before I wore my wedding ring home. One of my former teachers, a good friend of Grandma Wisslers, was visiting, and she immediately said, “Eleanor that looks more like a wedding ring on your finger than an engagement ring!” I nodded my head that it was. Needless to say my mother was furious, and went to spend the night with my teacher, Esther Brown. There was a dance that night and my mother didn’t come, but Esther was there. After the dance started Esther maneuvered Grandpa and I at one end of the hall and the orchestra began to play the wedding waltz. There we were, waltzing up the middle of the hall, just the two of us, before everyone else joined in…and that was the big announcement. The dance before that one boy I had had a crush on once, long before, asked me to dance.While we were dancing he said to me, “Eleanor, one of these days you are going to marry me!” I smiled at him and said, “Oh?” I felt sorry for him because he must have really felt he picked the absolutely wrong time to make his move. . . But, that just wasn’t meant to be, I’d gotten the best there was!”
…An unforgettable love story indeed; full of passion, adventure, romance, and an ever so burning hope welded to an undeniably consistent faith; a faith that carried them through, no matter the condition, state, or circumstance. It is this faith, hope, and yes, ever still passionate love (in the most endearing and enduring way), that has carried them, on wings, above the reality of this mortality… “So we do the best we can, and are very aware of how much worse off many are than I am, and lots of them are alone and don’t have their sweethearts to help, as I have been blessed to have” (Grandma Barber). If all of us could live, love, endure, and walk grateful as both of them, no matter the allotments or circumstances that befall us, our lives would be more meaningful and rich beyond our comprehension. How blessed we are to have them as living examples in our lives…For these things we honor you, Eleanor and Howard.
Now, to address all of you in whom this letter was also written…As I sat to write these words I could not help but think of each of you and wonder, “how does one begin to write a letter, a tribute, encompassing generations—people whose eyes will look upon this and surely wonder where their memory lay, wherein their voice was heard, and their feelings expressed. For this, forgiveness is needed, (for the inadequacy of one such voice acting in behalf of each of your voices; of one such heart feeling in behalf of each of your strong and beating hearts). The truth however, lay in the realization that we are one in the same, no matter our voice, age difference, life experience, or the miles between us. We are intricately woven together, because each of us carries a part of the aforementioned, remarkable, individuals; each of us carry a portion of the same blood, a genetic makeup that is undeniably real…
One may carry their mother’s contagious laughter; while another carries their grandmothers strong will, and ever so keen vision. One’s hands may resemble the etched lines of hard work engraven in their fathers hands, while another may carry their grandfathers quiet wisdom and ever so piercing gaze (that of love and profound endurance).One may cherish the quiet moments of sleeping in the sun-warmed corner window upstairs, or the woods that provided a young boys imagination to wander—to dream and explore; while another may cherish the sleigh rides, the Christmases in Colorado, Grandmas oyster stew, the wind, the smell of pine trees…quiet solitude. One’s mind may choose to reflect on the hardships and struggles, while another may reflect on the life changing obstacles that, through time, were triumphantly won…No matter the person, no matter the relation to those in whom we pay this tribute, we are family! We are tapestries made from the same hands, having been welded together as one.We have ties that bind us forever, promises that will stand, no matter the tests of time. No matter how hard we may try and break those bonds, ignorantly or knowingly, we will forever remain linked together for all eternity.
Let us, if for one or two days, out of our brief mortal existence, make this a burning reality. Let us for a moment, take a trip back to where it was we all once dwelt; where differences were subordinate to unconditional love. Let us expand our vision beyond time to that of eternity, realizing that therein no clocks did reside…priorities were set by ones heart not by ones watch. Time is not relevant when we catch the vision that what lies after this mortality is, in fact, the priority. Being only one voice, I pray that each of you make an effort to come to this reunion and take a moment to sit at the feet of those who have made you who you are today; to express gratitude for the eyes she’s given you, that with greater clarity you have been able to see; for the deep and profound love he’s instilled within you, a love you have been able to share with the rest of humanity. Let us come and share our gratitude to those whose love, faith, strength, and charity lay within a portion of our hearts; whose memory resides in our thoughts. We are privileged to still have living amongst us, hearts beating as strong as ever, our mother, and grandmother; our father, and grandfather…May we never have to live with regret; never have to live with the “what ifs,” or “if onlys;” never have to live with just the vision of his eyes, or the vividness in the sound of her voice… I share with you a portion of a story:
“My thoughts are interrupted by the ring of the telephone. I glance over at the clock. It claims an hour too early for a call anything less than urgent. Somehow in my heart I know. “He’s gone,” is all the shattered voice on the other end of the line says. A wall of tears is myimmediate response, followed by that awkward empty space that comes when feelings are too big, too loud for words. We share a silent prayer and then finally whisper our offerings of love. In sync we proclaim, “He's at peace now.” But as much as we believe this to be true, it doesn’t take away the sharpness of the ache, the shadow of the sadness, or the loss of light all of us who love him are feeling at this moment.
I hang up the phone and feel the conscious ripping of my heart. I want to reach out and hold all the people I love and never let them go. I want to be held by someone wiser than me and told everything is all right. But mostly I want to reach out to him. I need to tell him what he means to me and how deeply he’s touched my life. I just want a moment back to say all the things I never had time to say… Then I remember I’ve never asked him what his favorite flower was. There is so much I’ve never asked. There’s not been enough time. God, please let there be more time” (Lisa Weeden).
None of us know when we will be called home. None of us know when the words we utter will be our last. None of us know when the telephone rings, that is “the call”…the call that carries the news we dread to hear. I pray when that day comes we feel a contrast to the feelings contained in the previous story; that we feel rather as Pericles, leader of the Athenians, “Sorrow is not for the want of a good never tasted, but for the loss of a good we have been used to having.”
(To Eleanor and Howard):…Who could ever forget what you both have given each of us? Who could forget your prayers, your letters, your birthday cards, your warm thoughts…you who have never forgotten any of us. We are your posterity, through us you will live forever, and you forever in our memories and stories will remain. We are forever indebted to you for the righteous choices you have made, the examples you have been, and the lives you have led. Because of you, we live! Because of you, we are the people we are today! For these things, and for your living faith, testimony, and sacrifice, we will forever honor, love, and raise our voices in praise. May this praise extend high enough to reach the angelic ears of heaven, that they may pour upon you the richest blessings, in which you rightly deserve, for time and all eternity. God bless you both! We love you!!
Love Your children~
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