Remembering Grandma, Daddy, and Jack Emerson

In just a few minutes, I will be loading up the minivan and heading to Nashville, TN for the 10th Annual Americana Music Association Conference and Festival. I live in North Carolina Now, but every time I go back to Tennessee, I am reminded of friends who have passed on.

I have been archiving a bunch of crap I wrote before (this keeps me from having to write any new crap) and this just recently came to light again. It felt appropriate to share with everyone once again


Nov. 26, 2003

I hope nobody else dies this year. It's to the point where I am scared to answer the damned telephone. First my dad, then my grandma, and most recently Jack.

Grandma died a couple of weeks ago. She was 89. She mowed her own grass, often with a push mower. She was fiercely independent. In September my mom had to put her in an assisted living apartment because she was getting forgetful and we were worrying that she would burn the damned house down. (she almost did a couple of times) No more than a week after they moved her, she fell and she broke her hip. It just plain gave out on her. My aunt went by to check on her and knocked on the door and no one answered, she then went around to the back and knocked there. Still no answer, by the time she got back around to the front Grandma had crawled to the door and answered it. She apologized for taking so long. That's the kind of a woman my Grandma was.

They took her to the hospital and put her into old folks rehab where they gave her physical therapy. She got into trouble for sneaking out of bed and hopping around the room to go to the bathroom and move about with a broken hip. Like I said earlier, she was fiercely independent and didn't like using a bedpan because it meant somebody would have to clean up after her.

Around 1 November 2003, she had a heart attack. As soon as I got the news, I started calling everyone so that we could be ready. My sister was the closest one to her location wise. She called me and told me that I didn't need to worry nor come down right then, Grandma was in ICU, sitting up eating a BBQ sandwich and drinking buttermilk through a straw a couple of hours after her heart attack. That was to be her last meal.

She held on for 6 days. Something about fluid building up around her heart and lungs. A couple of days before she passed, my aunt was sitting up with her. My uncle Ronnie came by with supper. Grandma was doped up somewhat on painkillers. When Ronnie got there, Grandma asked who it was, and my aunt told her it was Ronnie. Grandma looked up at Ronnie and asked him if had come to "Knock her in the head" Ronnie laughed and said , "No".

"Well somebody needs to" said Grandma.

Grandma was a member of the Highland Heights Church of Christ. The preacher came and did the funeral and did a wonderful job. Grandma was a character. There was no diplomacy, no hidden agenda, no subterfuge. What you saw was what you got. Be careful what questions you asked, because you were going to get an honest answer back. She wasn't the snuggling type of Grandma, and more than once, I was forced to go cut my own switch. But even though Grandma wasn't real physically affectionate, there was no doubt that she worshipped her grandkids. When you visited, you weren't leaving until you ate something, even if her cooking might damn near kill you.

Grandma just plain fucking rocked.

For some reason Jack Emerson just reminded me of my grandma. He was around my age, but he treated me with that same level of acceptance, except he wasn't as rough around the edges as Grandma, and I don't remember him ever making me go cut a switch.

I can't say that I knew him really well. Just well enough so that we knew each others name and were always glad when we ran into each other. We'd catch up for a couple of minutes and then maybe see each other 6 months to a year later.

The last time I saw him was at Folk Alliance in January. He didn't make it to the AMA in Sept and I asked about him. Every once in a while, I'd call out to the house and leave a message just saying hi. In fact, I last did that about a month ago.

Then just last week, I was thinking I needed to send him an email. But I never got around to it. Now It's too late.

So today, I spent some time on the phone and called some friends who, like me, are getting older. I don't want to be too late again.

My father's dying in September was a shock to my world. Grandma's death earlier this month was more of a blessing, as she had been in pain for a long time. Jack's death was different. I'm sad. He was a good guy. A friendly guy. A guy who took the time to sit and talk with me over a drink about inconsequential shit, just two human beings connecting. A guy who laughed with me once, and who smiled when he saw me. We weren't close, but I considered him a friend, and now I'm sad and missing him.

What I wouldn't give to be able to spend just 1 more hour with my Dad, my Grandma, or with Jack Emerson.

So, in memory of Jack, sit down and spend a few minutes with someone and talk about some inconsequential shit, share a laugh, and a smile. Accept someone unconditionally for a few minutes. Share the human existence with another human.

And then reach out to those people you think about but never get the time to write, call, or visit. Do it before it's too late. Then think of Jack and smile.