Bernie had so many unexpected and interesting layers to him. All of these layers made him an amazing, interesting, loving, and compassionate human to have as a friend. So, I want to tell you about my perspective of Bernie’s many layers…at least the layers I got to see in the 9 years I knew him.
Bernie was a grouch.
I mean, he could be a crabby old man. He’d shake his head and mumble under his breath at me all the time.
Especially, when he’d see me do something he didn’t understand, like when I used to dress up my dogs for holidays, or when I’d spray Redi-whip directly into my mouth like a 2-year-old.
He really didn’t understand when I bought jeans with holes in them. He’d see me in some distressed jeans, and say, “Looks like you need some new jeans, girl?” That’s when I’d say, “Well these are brand new, Bernie… I paid extra for those holes.” And he’d say, “Well, heck if you were looking for jeans with holes, I coulda just given you a pair of my old jeans for free.” Then he’d walk away shaking his head at me.
And man would he get irritated and give me a hard time for spending too much money or for having yard sale after yard sale? He’d say, “Well, here we go again…why you givin’ this stuff away…just to buy more, I guess?”
In other words, this crabby old man often didn’t understand me… I think I seriously confused him at times.
Bernie was a patient & loving Paca.
For those who don’t know, Bernie got his nickname “Paca” from my 5-year-old Charleigh. When she was little he started to realize that she was always digging into his pocket on his t-shirt, pulling out his can of dip. So, once he knew she would always check that pocket, he started putting things that she loved in there…. like honey-roasted peanuts or candy. So, she started calling him “Pocket” …or at that time it came out as “Paca” …and so that name just stuck.
My girls loved this man. I truly believe that they saw him more as a childhood buddy, than as an adult.
I saw Bernie diaper baby dolls, get make-up applied to his face, get his hair styled, and sit on the ground for hours playing Barbie.
He’d push the girls on swings, read them books, and put worms on their hooks for hours on end.
He’d practice flash cards constantly,
Help them complete puzzle after puzzle,
Play Candy Land (and let them cheat) time after time,
Play Old Maid over and over… and over.
He never once said no to the girls asking him to play…. well, except getting in the water. I never once saw that man swim. But all other activities were fair game. Anything for his girls.
And he never left the girls without a goodbye kiss, or as he would say, “A smacker”. He’d say, “Girls let me have a smacker before I get outta here.” And then they’d run at full speed straight for his poor old knees to go get one.
Bernie was a tender-heart.
You wouldn’t guess it, but I watched him tear up so many times:
At our wedding,
When I first told him we were pregnant,
When he first saw Charleigh,
When he first saw Chayce.
When I was pregnant with Charleigh, and the doc said we were likely going to have to have an emergency C section and deliver her at 24 weeks, with all sorts of scary birth defects, Bern was there. He stayed and sobbed along with us that day.
Bernie was a helper, meaning he was our tribe.
When I was stuck in the hospital for 3 months on bedrest, right after we bought a new home that needed a lot of work, Bernie spent every day there helping Kevin get it ready. He painted every door and all the trim in the house. He helped paint all the walls. He helped out anywhere he was needed on that home. Making sure that it was ready for me and Charleigh to come home to…
And he babysat. I mean, this old man was a trooper. The first time we trusted him to watch Charleigh alone, she was a few weeks old. Changing diapers for the first time in his life and jumping in with both feet to help. I remember him blushing when we told him he mistakenly put formula on Charleigh’s private area instead of baby powder; shook his confidence for a second on that one.
But from there, he was our go-to babysitter.
Baby’s sick at daycare? Call Bernie.
Babysitter’s sick? Call Bernie.
Need a date night? Call Bernie.
There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for us.
Bernie was a loving coach.
He never pushed his opinions on us… just watched and laughed … or shook his head and said “I have no idea”… He never wanted to impose or be a burden. You could tell it was so important to him that he helped us grow as a family, by helping where he could to make any part of our life easier.
There was one time before we had kids, where Kevin and I had a pretty good (pretty stupid) fight. I went to Bernie for advice. He listened without judging, gently reassured me that this was normal and that we’d be ok, and then he went to help his son through the argument.
I could tell from any advice or involvement from him, that his own journey had slowly changed his perspective on life, and that he understood what mattered most in life now.
Bernie was stubborn.
I was in a unique position to watch my husband, Brian, and his father grow older together. With Momma-Spahr already in heaven, the Spahr family was run by these three very similar, very tall, very crotchety, stubborn Spahr men. And it was entertaining to watch how they managed leading their pack. They were not good communicators. Better stated—-they were horrible communicators. They grumbled at each other constantly but jumped at the chance to help each other out a couple times each week.
We bought Bernie a cell phone, because he spent a lot of time alone and in the woods and with the girls, so we wanted to be able to get ahold of him if we needed to. But because he was stubborn, he seldom carried that darn thing. And every few weeks, I’d hear Brian and Kevin on the phone with each other because Bernie hadn’t answered one of their calls…”Did you hear from him? No. Did you? No. K, I’m driving out there to check on him, then.”
We asked him to go to Destin with us every year, but he never would go. Said the ocean wasn’t his thing. He didn’t want to be a burden. Stubborn.
We’d constantly ask him to stay for dinner, he almost never would…didn’t want to impose. We “smartened up” and learned to get the girls to ask him to stay, and every blue moon or so we’d win that battle. Stubborn.
With his shoulder surgery causing stress in his life, I sat down with him a month or so ago and asked him to move in with us, that we would love to have him, that the girls would especially love to have him. He said, “Lindsey, that ain’t my bag.” Stubborn.
He had a vision of his life, and that is how he lived it. No one could tell him where to steer his ship. He controlled the speed and the helm.
Bernie was my friend.
During my 3 months of hospitalized bedrest, he visited me at least weekly, usually twice a week, just to sit and chat and keep me company. He was a lifeline for me during that time.
And then later on during my maternity leave times, I think Kevin thought it was funny, that he’d often find me on sunny afternoons out at Bernie’s, in his driveway in a folding chair, just chatting about life while the girls played in the yard. We’d sit there and talk about his sons, his garden, the girls, when I was going back to work, and where the fish were biting.
Sometimes he’d say, “Linds, you wanna beer?”, which I knew really meant that he wanted a beer. So, I’d happily accept, and we’d sit there sipping on Natty in his drive. So peaceful, natural, and calm.
I honestly just really enjoyed spending time with Bernie.
Whether we were fishing together,
Or having country-like fun out on his property
Like mushroom-hunting, squirrel-hunting, frog-gigging, or four-wheeling,
Or if I’d dragged him to the zoo with us for the millionth time,
(which I think he might’ve secretly despised),
He was just our buddy and we always had a ton of fun with him.
Bernie will always be part of our hearts.
So, although this crabby old man never really understood me….
I know he loved me.
And I loved him, dearly.
My girls loved him, fiercely.
And it goes without saying that his boys loved him, unconditionally.
Bernie will be missed.
Bernie, I’m really going to miss you.
I’ll miss hearing you call a couple times a week to ask if you can come over to see the girls.
I’ll miss hearing your distinct knock on the front door, seeing your shape through the front glass, and hearing the girls yell, “Paca’s here!”
I’ll miss how your face crinkled up when you laughed. You had a great laugh.
I’ll miss going on fishing trips with you, Kevin, & the girls.
I’ll miss being on those fishing trips, and hearing you talking in your sleep in the middle of the night.
I’ll miss sitting by you on your driveway drinking beer and just talking to you about life.
I’ll miss watching you play with the girls.
I’ll miss hearing you get bossed around by the girls, and then watching you happily follow their orders.
I’ll miss having you as part of our Christmas mornings.
I’ll miss coming home from church to see your van in our drive.
I’ll miss you always saying, “Here Linds, let me carry that for you.”
I’ll miss you calling to check on the girls when you heard they were sick.
I’ll miss you being our first trick-or-treating stop for the girls.
I’ll miss Kevin having to yell and repeat himself all the time, because you were hard of hearing.
I’ll miss watching the sweet and loving bond between you and the girls.
I’ll miss going to the World’s Fair with you each year, and seeing the girls fight over who got to sit on your lap during the parade.
I’ll miss going to your house and sending the girls in first to wake you, because you liked to nap in your undies.
I’ll miss how when we visited you at your house, you’d always grab a lawn chair and set it up for me, and then do the same for yourself…. just a simple gesture showing your kindness, and your interest in us sitting, chatting, and staying awhile.
I’ll miss having a good friend that I could call and talk to anytime, could ask any favor from, and could pop in at your home without warning knowing I would be genuinely welcomed.
Quite simply, I’ll miss my friend.
Bernie will never be forgotten.
Every maroon van we see, we’ll think of you.
Every Natty Light we drink, we’ll think of you.
Every gray-haired man we see on a tractor, we’ll think of you.
Every man in camo rubber boots that we see, we’ll think of you.
Every time we hear phrases you used, we’ll think of you. Phrases like: “Give me a smacker”, “Hey, shug”, “I have no idea”, “I have no clue”, “Whatever floats your boat”, “Is that so?”
Every grandpa we see holding a baby doll, a pink bow, or a little girl’s hand, we’ll think of you…
And we’ll smile.
Please rest in peace, Bern, knowing that your memory will stay strong in our hearts,
Not at all defined by your death,
But instead defined solely by all of these countless beautiful life moments
That we feel so lucky to have been a part of with you.
We love you with all of our hearts, Lindsey