Pops

Last Saturday night, I walked out of my cousin Ryan’s wedding holding a very tired Cara. Pops asked if I was taking my crew back to the hotel, and I explained that I was because they were beyond exhausted. “I understand that,” he said with a laugh. We said goodnight with hugs and kisses (a few extra for Cara, of course), and I squeezed his hand and told him I’d see him in the morning. He squeezed back, smiled, and said, "Okay, honey."

The next morning started just a few short hours later, and not the way any of us wanted it to. We wept together in shock and in sadness, this great loss only just beginning to sink in. For my kids who won’t always remember the details of their relationships with this great man (and maybe for me a little bit), I wanted to share a little about his life, and remind them of their part in it.

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Born December 10, 1926, to Ernest and Belle, Myron Leonard Butler was the youngest of three. He grew up in the Kirkwood area of Atlanta and often visited the old family farm in Dacula (of which he later bought 10 acres for the “Butler Compound”). Pops served as a Navy signalman assigned to a personnel carrier in the mid-40s. He was prepared to leave from San Francisco for the invasion of Japan when the war ended, but he participated in the occupation forces in Japan and The Philippines instead (where he fell in love with exotic fruit, by the way!). Having to gorge himself on food to make the minimum weight, Pops began his policing career in the early 50s. He spent 28 years with APD, 15 of those on a motorcycle and 11 as a burglary detective. Pops was a capable mechanic, and he could build things with his hands. Watching and playing golf were his retirement favorites. He made time for his kids, playing sports and facilitating camping and boating trips. He loved being a dad, a grandpa, and a great-grandpa, and we knew it because he supported us all with his presence attending birthday parties, chorus concerts, dance performances, baseball games, baptisms, confirmations, and anything else he was invited to. He was interested in our lives and asked specific questions. At the age of 88, he traveled to Iowa for his grandson’s wedding. After enjoying the weekend with great company and good food, Pops left this world for a better one on Sunday, July 26. All 4 of his children, all 11 of his grandchildren, and all 10 (and counting!) of his great-grandchildren came together to honor his legacy. He is well-loved because he taught us all to love so well.

   

To Payton…Pops loved you from the moment he knew you. He met you shortly after I did, just after your second birthday. You took him by the hand, led him down the porch stairs, and marched him around the yard. He laughed and loved you as if you had been his own blood from that day forward. He asked about you when he didn’t see you and gave you golf cart rides whenever he could. You sobbed when you heard the news of his passing, lamenting that you didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. But you did, sweet girl. He brought you comfort when you feared the windstorm at the rehearsal dinner, reminding you that since God had created the storm, there was nothing to fear. The two of you chatted at breakfast Saturday morning – about the food, about school, and about your favorite part of being a big sister. He saw you play and laugh and marveled at how much you’d grown up. The sadness you have felt and the genuine tears you have cried speak to a mutual love. You keep that golf tee of his forever. He’d want that.

To Jackson…Pops called you a “beautiful baby even though you were a boy." He enjoyed talking to you as soon as you could form words, and he lit up that first time you said “Pops.” You shared countless conversations and golf cart rides together, and your regular visits after his knee surgery may have just given him the strength to recover and share a few more years with us. Pops didn’t want to do much for the doctors or therapists, but he looked forward to taking you for wheel chair rides to see “Offafrees” (Christmas trees) and wreaths. When Daddy explained to you that Pops was gone, you quietly leaned into him and asked, “But why?” Then, you folded your hands and prayed that God would “take care of Pops in Heaven.” You bore your grief quietly for the most part, but broke down from time to time with a buried face, a quiet question, or a few tears – reminded by all you’d miss about your great-grandfather. You asked if he could receive letters in Heaven, so we wrote one together. I only helped you spell the words. It blessed me, it blessed our family, and I know it blessed Pops. As Dad took you to the car after the viewing on Thursday night, you screamed, “No!” and frantically looked around, shouting, “I’ll love you forever, Pops!” Me, too, buddy. Me, too.

  

To Evie…You were always “Miss Evie” to him, and I think your favorite place to sit was in his lap. At three, you aren’t able to understand too much about the permanence and finality of death, but you are certainly gifted with compassion. You seemed to have had a sixth sense about Pops this weekend, expressing your distress when you hadn’t seen him for a few moments and showering him with even more hugs and kisses than usual. These were more precious to him than gold could have ever been, and anyone who saw him smile knew the love he gave and received in those moments. You hugged Memaw tightly Sunday before we left and spontaneously told her that “It’s going to be okay.” Every time you’ve seen a picture and even unprompted throughout the course of our days, you’ve told me, “I’m sad about Pops.” You say, “Pops died, and I’m sad,” with a somber face, and then your countenance brightens because “it’s okay. He’s with Jesus now, and he’s not tired anymore.” Thank you for reminding us of that, sweet girl. 

  

To Cara…Pops knew you as a brave girl. Since you were born a long 12-hour drive away from him, you first met him in November after your birth, and he was so excited to see you in person. He worried about your surgery and marveled at your resilience and strength in recovery. You went to him willingly and made him laugh with your stubborn persistence, perceived independence, and very vocal requests. During the wedding weekend, he particularly enjoyed your love for food and cupcakes. We watched you devour one, getting most of the icing on your face, and laughed together. He knew you and loved you and held you the days before he died, and you brought him much joy in the way that only babies could.

  

Pops was a great man who supported me as a student, as a dancer, as a person, as a teacher, and later, as a mom. He could relate to your Daddy more than many, and the kind words of understanding and encouragement Pops gave are things we will both carry with us for the rest of our lives. Dad counted it an honor to render his salute to a fellow Veteran, and I’m not ashamed of the many tears I have shed grateful for his constant presence in my life.