Saturday, December 1, 2007
THEODORE GRANT STORIE Sr.
I wrote this about Pop Pop and read it as a euology just over ten years ago.
Your life was so filled with the memories of yesterday that rarely a day went by that you didn’t recall someone or some event in your life that always painted a vivid and colorful picture in my mind. It was as if I was reliving it with you.
From the tales of working the timber and sawmill, from catching a freight train at the age of sixteen; riding it to Kentucky to find work. The stories of toiling long hard days, loading coal deep in the mountainside. To tales of Panama and the Philippines, meeting Granny and the births of Mom, Teddy and Gay, of moving to Catlettsburg to work at the refinery. The story of pulling the turquoise and white ’57 Chevy into the parking lot at work and moments later laughing as the police car with siren screaming disappeared down the road.
The stories of the countless stringers of fish you caught through the years (and they never grew an inch every time you told it). The hunting trips to the places where the rabbits were so plentiful that a Beagle just got in the way. To the woods where the squirrels would make the mistake of riding out the limb of a big white oak, only to hear the roar of your Remington 48 Sportsman.
These were your memories, and I got to relive them and many others with you.
But I also have memories of the days you spent with me, teaching, molding and protecting me.
My memories were filled with the instructions of life. The memories of fishing long hours, of eating a lunch that Granny had packed and then taking a nap in the reclining seats of the Rambler before going back and fishing until dark.
I remember the chilly Spring moonless nights, sitting in the boat behind the hissing Coleman lanterns, waiting for the white bass to take the minnows we offered. (I knew the fish would come as I had seen the pictures of great catches in the past) To walking through the color-splashed woods of Fall, trying to step in your exact footprints so as not to make any sound in the dry leaves.
Memories of cleaning fish into the wee hours of the night on the shores of Lake Erie. (I don’t remember every fish I caught with you but I sure remember every one I cleaned)
To taking you to my secret trout stream in the Red River Gorge where we donned our waders and whipped the fly rods beneath the redbuds and dogwoods, landing the brown trout, which you said weren’t fit to eat, but you never complained about catching.
Every moment spent with you enlightened me in some special way. I came out of every situation a little wiser.
These memories are only mine. I will cherish them always, but I hold only a small piece of the memories of you. Everyone in the family can share what I share, your great grandchildren, grandchildren, children, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and your countless friends.
While all the memories I have are special, there is one I will place above all others. It is the most recent and will forever be the dearest and most precious memory of all. The memory of sharing a pew with you in church where we sat and listened to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Our bibles open, reading the truth, drinking in His Word.
You are not gone, for by your repentance, faith and surrender, you have that everlasting eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Memories are fond, but memories are also the past. You have, through your faith, set an example for each of us here to follow. I now look forward to the future, to a time of rejoicing with you and Granny and family before you in God’s Heaven.
Thanks for the love….Grant