the effort of a life

 

Frank Clayton

a neighbor drops by:

"Frank has passed. . . "

Frank, a son of my buddy Welton,

the patriarch of our neighborhood,

a role he assumed after James Ellison passed,

the patriarch just before,

I have known Frank near 49 years,

I have known his distinctive personality,

an "acquired taste" some would say:

Frank would not suffer fools gladly,

and it was easy to come across as fool to him,

a harshness in his judgement of others,

that he probably leveled against himself, also,

he had a deep sweetness to him, but he hated to let you see it,

the going was often tough,

and he steeled himself to deal with it,

her preferred work to whine, the barb to the sugar,

the razzing when his team would beat mine,

the complaining about "your President"

when he didn't like a political turn,

a teasing about sports and relationships,

but who better to be there for you?

when we'd go off from home

it was Frank who'd get our mail,

water our plants,

take care to get in our packages,

give us some deer sausage, okra from his garden,

appreciate the cooking we'd share with him,

when I'd ask him this last year how he was doing,

he'd answer: "I'm falling apart!"

just getting around, harder and harder,

then two days ago, he fell,

a friend found him on the floor,

got him into a chair, got EMS there,

they wanted to take him to the hospital,

but Frank would have none of that,

he knew how he wanted to live his last days,

and a day later he was gone,

found by his friends who had spent years

honoring him with their time, their care,

their food, their patience with his distinctiveness,

their going the extra mile however they could,

nobody really knows the effort each of us lives,

Frank worked as hard as he could,

as long as he could,

and then he had to lay it all down,

I stand outside his house with family and friends,

and I watch his draped body come out the door,

down the stairs, across the lawn,

and then into the hearse,

Frank, I honor you,

I honor the effort of your life,

the goodness of your soul,

the tragedy that what might have been didn't happen,

how sad that the world was not able to see you true

and help you seize a life

that would have been more what you deserved

rather than what you got.

by Henry H. Walker

March 11, ‘24