For the Last Time
We all think that we are invincible. We will live on and decide our future on our own terms. Sorry Pilgrim, but it doesn’t work like that. There will come a day or time when we have the last visit either in person or by phone with a loved one.
Unfortunately, according to the Bible, we won’t know the time nor the day. It has recently hit me between the eyes.
Yesterday, I got a call from my brother that our good friend Ken Johnson had passed away walking in the mall. I am still in shock. Not Ken. Class, character and a true friend, all wrapped in one. Ken was from Athens but as he would visit with all the “Good ole Boys” of Leighton, he would get emotional and proclaim about how lucky we were to have a group of guys who were still close as brothers after more than 50 years.
My brother met and roomed with Ken at Alabama. He was a “neat-freak” which was exactly what Bob needed. Until they met, Bob’s idea of deciding on an outgoing shirt was using the “sniff” method and deciding on the cleanest dirty shirt.
Ken Johnson later worked for General Motors with David Gargis, Redus Moran and my mother-in-law, Dean Garlen. His work ethic was off the charts and like my brother-in-law Bob Tanner, I never knew of anyone who disliked Ken.
Here is the toughest part: about 3 weeks ago, I talked with Ken about the death of my other brother-in-law, Larry Garlen. We talked about old times, future plans and our love for each other and our adopted brothers. Unfortunately, our conversation was for the last time.
Have you ever paused and thought to yourself about “the last time?”
It’s human nature for all of us to have regrets about the “last time.” Why didn’t I return that call? Why didn’t I stop by and see him when I was within a block of his house? We had built in excuses: Maybe next time. Or “as soon as…” Unfortunately, that time never comes and we end up blaming ourselves and go on a guilt-trip that’s heavier than a truckload of round bales of hay.
For each of you, think about “for the last time.”
Do we think of former teachers or coaches? I remember seeing Coach Manley sitting at a CCHS game, for the last time. Why didn’t I go over and tell him how much I appreciated him? Or seeing my basketball Coach Jerry Daily, for the last time. He took a chance on me, made me a 2-year captain and helped me get an athletic scholarship. It wouldn’t have taken 2 minutes to see him briefly, for the last time.
I think of Mrs. Reed King, my fourth-grade teacher. Jimmy King, my Scoutmaster and hero. Dr. Jim Ashmore, my idol and role model. He was cool before cool had a definition. I can remember the last time I saw him.
When I was offered an opportunity to join the football staff at the University of Alabama, Ray Perkins took a chance on me as a 32 year old high school coach. He passed away before I got the chance to thank him for the last time. I got to visit with him in Tuscaloosa before his death but never had the class or courage to thank him for changing my family.
The same is true about Howard Schnellenberger, former coach at Louisville. We had a reunion in Louisville of the team which beat Alabama in the Fiesta Bowl. We had a great reunion and I would see himlater on TV doing interviews. I often wonder if he ever knew what he meant to me? I can still recall the last time we talked.
This weekend, I will be going to Louisville for a celebration of life for one of my top recruits I ever signed, Marty Lowe from Chattanooga. Marty was selected as Mr. Football of Tennessee, and we beat Tennessee, Georgia, Florida State and Virginia for his signature. He recently died from kidney cancer, and I will be doing the eulogy at his service. I think back on the number of times he came to Destin to visit friends. My son, Joe Claude, was able to visit with him but unfortunately, I can’t remember the last time we visited. That’s wrong and I blame myself.
I can recall talking with my Dad by phone on the morning of March 23rd, 1988. He told me about replanting the corn in his garden near Brooks Bowling’s home and the fact he was going out to run his trotline on Limekiln Hollow. Before lunch, I got a call that he had died of a massive heart attack in his john boat, while running his trot line. That was the last time we talked.
On Christmas of 2019, my wife and I visited with Mother at Morningside Assisted Living. Susan helped her complete a crossword puzzle. We knew the end was near and in her words, she was ready to go. Three days later, she passed away. After almost 7 years, I still can’t delete her phone number from my phone or eliminate the messages she sent.
In life, we procrastinate. We delay. We put off UNTIL it’s too late. Then we remember the “Last Time.”
Let’s make it a new goal to communicate and cherish:
“The Last Time.”