One More Goodbye
His hair was always slicked back, not in a greasy gross way, but in a manner resembling the 50’s attention to style and presentation. His eyes sparkled with a smile to match as he joked around and thought of the next punch line to get in; all the while trying to find out what is new and important in your life. His handshake was always strong and firm though arthritis had long ago curled them in a manner as to make them unusable for the farming and metalworking jobs that he loved to do.
Now the hair was almost all gone, the pale scalp beneath held only the slightest wisps of shock-white hair. His eyes were clouded with the pain and confusion by the amounts of radiation and chemotherapy chemicals that had been assaulting his body and his spirit for the past months. He still reached up for a handshake, but gone was the message of strength that he once conveyed.
But it wasn’t any of those things that made him so special to me and to those around him. It was the 30 odd years of standing at the entrance of the church with that trademark smile welcoming everyone to the service. It was that same suit that he wore when he took up the offering later on that day. It was his loyal service as he quietly went back to the altar and did the day’s accounting work long as the rest of the folks were trying to beat the Methodists to the steakhouse. It was frequent visits to my grandfather as he lay in his bed with the same strains that he was experiencing now. It was the chicken tenders dinners that his wife cooked for 4 days in a row after Papa passed. It was the Goop Cake that she prepared for me (my favorite) after I graduated. It was a check for $25.00 that he signed to me for my high school graduation and another one for college. Always giving. Giving of his time, his talents, himself.
When I went to visit him at the hospital in Asheville, he called loudly for the nurse to bring him his “pee can”. The nurse came in and asked what he meant. He repeated. ‘You mean a pecan?’ She asked. It was just Hebren being Hebren. Trying to make others laugh while he internally fought for his life.
I made it a point to stop at least once a week and visit. It was always the same. A giant smile as I entered the room and another as I left with that famous “Be careful out there. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The last time the smile was more labored, and his eyes only opened momentarily. I shared with him one more time about how much he meant to me and how much we all appreciated the work he had done, and with a handshake and a hug I left.
About 3 days later I was in the back of my Uncle John’s store pricing drugs and I got this very heavy feeling in my heart and I just couldn’t get him off my mind. I called them and told his wife that I just wanted her to know that I was thinking about them and that I was praying for them. That was 11:50pm. At 12:10pm Hebren Layell passed from this life to the next.
Our associate pastor was by his side and told me exactly how it happened. With his family around him, he suddenly opened his eyes wide and said,
“Somebody’s calling me. I gotta go.”
His wife said, “Well Hebren who is it? Where you goin’?”
“Someone’s calling me. I’m going home. Come here and give me a kiss.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.
“I’m going home now. One more kiss and I’ve got to go.”
She bent down again and kissed him, and he passed from this world into the one prepared for him by the Master Constructionist. He will be missed precisely because he made his time here count for so much and made himself a large part of a lot of people's lives. I will miss that handshake and I'll miss getting that warm feeling every time I visited. But like they said at the funeral, "Just imagine what Harold Lusk and Hebren Layell are getting into up there right now! God's got His hands full."
Now the hair was almost all gone, the pale scalp beneath held only the slightest wisps of shock-white hair. His eyes were clouded with the pain and confusion by the amounts of radiation and chemotherapy chemicals that had been assaulting his body and his spirit for the past months. He still reached up for a handshake, but gone was the message of strength that he once conveyed.
But it wasn’t any of those things that made him so special to me and to those around him. It was the 30 odd years of standing at the entrance of the church with that trademark smile welcoming everyone to the service. It was that same suit that he wore when he took up the offering later on that day. It was his loyal service as he quietly went back to the altar and did the day’s accounting work long as the rest of the folks were trying to beat the Methodists to the steakhouse. It was frequent visits to my grandfather as he lay in his bed with the same strains that he was experiencing now. It was the chicken tenders dinners that his wife cooked for 4 days in a row after Papa passed. It was the Goop Cake that she prepared for me (my favorite) after I graduated. It was a check for $25.00 that he signed to me for my high school graduation and another one for college. Always giving. Giving of his time, his talents, himself.
When I went to visit him at the hospital in Asheville, he called loudly for the nurse to bring him his “pee can”. The nurse came in and asked what he meant. He repeated. ‘You mean a pecan?’ She asked. It was just Hebren being Hebren. Trying to make others laugh while he internally fought for his life.
I made it a point to stop at least once a week and visit. It was always the same. A giant smile as I entered the room and another as I left with that famous “Be careful out there. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The last time the smile was more labored, and his eyes only opened momentarily. I shared with him one more time about how much he meant to me and how much we all appreciated the work he had done, and with a handshake and a hug I left.
About 3 days later I was in the back of my Uncle John’s store pricing drugs and I got this very heavy feeling in my heart and I just couldn’t get him off my mind. I called them and told his wife that I just wanted her to know that I was thinking about them and that I was praying for them. That was 11:50pm. At 12:10pm Hebren Layell passed from this life to the next.
Our associate pastor was by his side and told me exactly how it happened. With his family around him, he suddenly opened his eyes wide and said,
“Somebody’s calling me. I gotta go.”
His wife said, “Well Hebren who is it? Where you goin’?”
“Someone’s calling me. I’m going home. Come here and give me a kiss.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.
“I’m going home now. One more kiss and I’ve got to go.”
She bent down again and kissed him, and he passed from this world into the one prepared for him by the Master Constructionist. He will be missed precisely because he made his time here count for so much and made himself a large part of a lot of people's lives. I will miss that handshake and I'll miss getting that warm feeling every time I visited. But like they said at the funeral, "Just imagine what Harold Lusk and Hebren Layell are getting into up there right now! God's got His hands full."
***In Loving Memory of Hebren Layell**
*A servant, a neighbor, and a friend*
*A servant, a neighbor, and a friend*
posted by Harold A. Lusk, Jr. | 11:48 AM
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