This ones a tear jerker.

Goin' throught the box of old pictures, I found some stuff I'd forgotten about.

My mom's family is all spread out in Texas; some here in Bell county, some up in Waco, and a bunch of folks in Houston. Some of them are Hargroves, some are Edds, and some are Zacharys. One of the folks in Waco used to play professional baseball. Anyone remember Pat Zachary? Met him at a reunion a decade or so back. Very easy going and seemed like a cool guy. There's a cousin named Edds on TV in the show CSI. Yep, a distant relative, raised in Belton. Never met him.

Anyway, as I was going through this latest box of pictures, looking for stuff to scan and culling through the shots, I ran across a letter sized yellow envelope. I opened it up and a few newspaper clippings fell out. On further examination, I found a typed essay in it that had been authored by a distant cousin down in Houston. I read it and found it very moving, and I'd bet you folks will to.

Remember when you read this that the kid who wrote it was only 13.

Here it is. I think you'll be as impressed as I was. It's all his work, copied as written.

Paw Paw
By Nicholas Meyer
age 13
Parkview Intermediate
Pasadena, Texas

When I was little and stayed in my grandparents' house, my grandfather and I would ride bikes to the park. He would pick me up and set me on the Merry Go Round. Then he'd push until I could barely hold on and when I was about to fall he'd always be there to ketch me. Now the bikes have been sold and my grandfather can hardly make it from the bed to the living room without my help.

It all started about two years ago. My grandfather had a sudden stroke. My family did not know what to think. Nothing like this had ever happened to anyone I know and I was scared. Ever since i was a little kid my grandfather had been one of my idols. He was the biggest man I had ever seen. He was about six foot, and looked like he had boxes on his shoulders he was so muscular. I was always careful about what I said around him because I never would have wanted to make him mad. I knew my grandfather would never get mad at me, but there was always a "what if?" in the back of my mind. Every time I would see him I would run up and give him a hug. He would always say to me "Hi Buddy". I was always my Pawpaw's buddy. When my brother and I went to my grandparent's house we would always have a party with my Meemaw and Pawpaw. When we went to bed my brother and I would switch off nights sleeping with them both. I remember when I would roll over on my Pawpaw at night and say "I want some bread and butter". He would always hop up and get it for me. I can't remember a time when my Pawpaw was still beside me. He would come in the house covered in grease or mud. There wasn't anything in the world my Pawpaw couldn't fix. he was always fixing something. It was amazing though, Pawpaw would always find a way to be with us. I think he came to almost half my baseball games. I remember when I had a big tournament game far away that he was taking me to. We must have driven for an hour and asked at least ten people directions. We found about three fields but not one was where I was supposed to play. We laughed and joked and were making fun of something that was supposed to be a problem. Well, I showed up in the third inning of the game, but it didn't bother me. That was one of the best experiences I ever had with my Pawpaw. That is why it was so hard to accept the fact that my Pawpaw had a stroke.

My family visited him in the hospital as much as we could. I remember when I would see him I would go up and say "Hi Buddy". He soon got out of the hospital and started recovering. We visited about every two weeks. We thought everything was going to be alright after a few months. The stroke effected movement in his whole right side, but even that was recovering well.

Then it happened again. My Meemaw and Pawpaw were travelling, I think to San Antonio, and it happened again. My Pawpaw had another stroke and went right back to the hospital. He seemed to get out faster this time but it set him back to the same place he started from with the last stroke. His speech soon began to slur. We thought he wouldn't get any better this time but he proved us wrong. He fought back with all he had and soon got better. Once during his recovery, my family was talking about a race car driver that had just been seriously hurt in a wreck. His trainer said he was the toughest man he had ever seen. My Pawpaw just looked at us and said "He hasn't seen me yet!" My Pawpaw was a fighter and he wasn't about to let this knock him out. We started visiting every week and we all enjoyed it. The highlight of their week was when we would show up. You wouldn't believe how their eyes lit up when they saw us walk through the door. Soon my Pawpaw started having little strokes and they effected him every time. His speech started to slur, he lost weight, he had trouble eating his food, and he couldn't walk well at all. My Meemaw had to start hiring help because she couldn't take care of him all alone. Soon coming to see them wasn't just something we did to be nice. It became a part of our life. Every time we saw him we wondered if it would be the last time.

One evening when I had some friends over, my brother called me into the other room and told me Pawpaw was in the hospital. It seems as if he had another stroke. In some ways I felt relief. If this was when he would pass away it would put him out of his misery. He lived and I was happy he was going to stay with us longer. Since that time he has been just like a baby. My Meemaw has help almost full time. He can't walk, feed himself and can barely speak. We talked about having to put him in a home but my Meemaw can't do it. Pawpaw is her life and I'm afraid she can't live without him. We've talked about the fact that we don't think he knows we are there but I don't believe it.

Today I went to see my Grandfather. My mom pointed at me and asked if he knew who I was. My Pawpaw stared at me with his baby blue eyes and couldn't tell me "That's my Buddy."

At the bottom of the essay there is an inscription reading...

Written Circa April, 1992
Published in Young Authors Magazine anthology 18
Center for Creative Therapies, Theraplan Incorporated

I started to remember a few things as I read this essay, about going down to a funeral in Houston some time in the late 1990s with my Mom and Dad, and about dad getting this envelope in the mail a while later. Reading the newspaper clippings confirmed it. It seems that this boy grew up to be a star athlete. He was a 17 year old senior in High school in 1997, and had received 400 letters of intent from prospective colleges.

About 8:15 pm, the night of January 17th, the boy climbed the stairs at his family home, telling people he was going to take a shower. A few minutes later they heard a loud noise, and going upstairs they found his body bleeding from a massive shotgun wound. He'd been suffering from depression for months, visiting hospitals and doctors but nothing helped.

I seem to remember them saying at the funeral, which was huge, that they thought he'd been depressed over the death of his grandfather, and couldn't get over it. His mother was quoted as saying that he was very good at hiding his depression, that he had finally gotten to the point where he couldn't take it any more, and that he was finally at peace.

Poor kid. What a shame. What a waste. I hope he and Pawpaw are havin' a ball somewhere.