It dawned on me as I was reading over the last part of my story, that I had left out a lot about Butch’s personality and the things that made him uniquely him.
First, he was a wonderful husband. In those days (late ‘50s and early ‘60s) wives were just starting to assert themselves. Our marriage was truly a partnership. It would not have survived in the old fashioned “wives submit to your husband” days. There were times when I had to take the family reins or things would have crumbled. When your husband is gone for a year, you definitely have to be the “man” in the family.
Butch had no problems with the partnership. I can’t remember but one time when he made a decision without talking with me first (the Zelda incident).
By the same token, he had no qualms about chipping in and doing housework, changing diapers, and taking over for me on occasion. I think we had achieved a nearly perfect balance — not that it didn’t take a lot of hair pulling and gritting teeth at times, but we got through them and came out the other side stronger than before.
He also was a wonderful father. When Dee was born, I was so worried because I really wanted a boy — one that looked just like Butch. When I finally woke up after the surgery and he came to see both of us, I knew I had no problems. It was obvious he adored her. She was daddy’s girl for sure.
It also became obvious later that I had not one child, but two. When we lived in Augusta, Butch would bring me my morning coffee in bed on Saturday mornings and then let me go back to sleep for an hour or so. When I finally got up, I would wander into the family room/kitchen and find Hot Wheels tracks stretched from one end of the room to the other, with two or three cars speeding through the booster, and flying from room to room. My two “children” sat in the middle, giggling like idiots.
He taught her to play Chess when she was five and she even beat him a couple of times. He taught her about plants and we had a small garden one summer.
Had he lived until her pre-teen years, he probably would have taught her to play football.
Heidi, our dog, was a complete fool about him. She adored him. I was the disciplinarian so she “respected” me but she loved Butch to pieces. In fact, everybody did. He was not only liked but also respected.
As I said before, I am so grateful to have been a part of his life, even if it was just for a short time. I was truly blessed.
Right after he died, I remember getting mad at God. “I know you’re there,” I said, “but I’m not speaking to you any more.”
And God, in his infinite wisdom, said, “It’s okay. I’ll wait.” It took six years. but He got me back, as He knew he would. He does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?
Judy Kilgore is the religion editor for The Citizen.
