Earl

Much of the time, a place is just that: a hometown, a favorite spot in the woods, a single building. Often times, a sense of place is found in that single building–our home–our space where we live our daily existence, find comfort, and retreat and renew. The power of home is undeniable, as it often defines and intensifies who we believe we are.

But sometimes, a place is a person–where we discover ourselves, where we send our roots, where we find our stability, comfort, and the warmth of love. Only once in a great while, if we are very fortunate, do we find such a person in our lives. My father-in-law Earl Wallace Hickerson was such a person, and I was one of the very fortunate ones to have shared some of life with him.

An astute, successful businessman, Earl never let anything slip by him. He was keenly aware of all that life had to offer, and he embraced it fully. Though he saw things in black and white, carrying facts in his head and figures in the small spiral notebook he always kept in his shirt pocket, he possessed an affirmative spirit of perseverance and grace. When faced with what might have been viewed as a disappointing or difficult result, he would always respond with, “How do you know it’s bad?” He used every life event to learn, to try again, and to teach. His family and friends, his peers, and especially, his grandchildren benefited from this powerful point of view.

His genuine interest in and adoration for his grandchildren were some of his finest qualities. He and his wife, Emma Lou, possessed an appreciation for their grandchildren– because they so fully realized the potential of their young lives. Never complacent, Earl kept completely abreast of news, sports, current events, and pop culture, and loved to discuss them at length, especially with those grandchildren. He loved being able to understand what they currently found compelling; he might not pronounce the band’s name correctly, but he knew who they were and what they were “about”. When one of his grandchildren was the first to move away from our hometown, he called her every Saturday morning to discuss her week’s events, and could recite her friends’ names as easily as she could. Aside from the adoration felt, she also learned to cherish her week’s joys and sorrows in anticipation of sharing them with her grandpa.

When his grown children were faced with their own joys and sorrows, the first thing they would do was pick up the phone to tell Earl. They knew that he would listen intently, give sage advice (only if asked), and remind them “How do you know it’s bad?”, if necessary.

When his health began to fail him, Earl unintentionally provided me with another gift. To me, he was “the one”: the one that we all turned to, laughed with, and leaned on. Never the best at showing my deepest emotions and affections, I was faced with the prospect of losing him, one of my best friends. His final illness lasted several months, and his wife and children endured the worst aspects of witnessing his discomfort. I would drive home when I could and did not have to experience the pain that they did, but every time we came to visit, I was struck by the profound beauty of knowing our time with him was limited. I felt truly graced with the gift of knowing: how important it is to show someone know how much you love them and let them know how they have impacted your life. I would stroke his head, try to make jokes, and call him sweetheart. I felt truly compelled to be in the moment, to appreciate, and to show gratitude. As sad as we were to know we were losing him, I truly felt blessed to be in his presence.

One of the last times my daughter and I were able to visit Earl was shortly before her junior prom. Even through his illness, he knew how excited she would be about her dress, so Earl insisted she bring it along to show him. As she proudly displayed it on the hanger, he said, “Well, go put it on! Make sure you put on your lipstick too, so I can get see what you’re really going to look like!” She obeyed, he admired, and once again, he created a memory for her. He insisted on having a photo taken with her (though he was a bit concerned that he wasn’t “freshly shaved”), bending forward to kiss her lightly on the nose. It was as if Earl guessed we might need an image to hold onto, and once again, he was right. In the days and months since he passed, we often look to that day and the photo to remind ourselves of the unconditional love, the enthusiastic interest, and solid comfort his place provided us.

Today is the 79th anniversary of his birth.

For me, my father-in-law Earl was: all that is home.