His Name Was Frank

I’ve heard it said that certain people cross the path of our lives for only a short time, yet they can leave an impression on us that will last forever. So it is with me and Frank.

The first time I noticed Frank, he was ahead of me at the window at our local credit union. He was talking to the teller and expounding on Wal-mart’s policy of returning your checks on the spot after you have written them. He voiced his dislike of the practice, and when he turned to leave, I told him I agreed with him. We chatted for a few minutes, and I could tell right away that he was one of those people who bubbles with exuberance. It wasn’t until I asked the teller who he was that I even learned his name.

A couple of weeks later, I learned Frank was dad to a lady in our church who had become a good friend of mine over the past months. I ran into Frank a couple more times in town, and he loved to visit. One day we joked about the “goodies” we had purchased at the dollar store. Another day, we spent over an hour chatting in the parking lot at the grocery store, where Frank filled me in about his life as a farmer and rancher and how his illness had slowed him down these past many months.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Frank’s house armed with a notebook, a listening ear, and a lot of excitement in anticipation of the stories he wanted to tell. He showed me artifacts he had discovered on the ranch he used to own and manage near Colorado Springs. His eyes sparkled as he shared memories of his childhood, growing up on a Colorado ranch in the “dirty thirties”. He took me back to a time in history when life was difficult, yet structured by a morality and a sense of right and wrong that seems to be lost in today’s world.

The following week, I returned with a tape recorder in hand so as not to miss a word. He had also given me copies of poetry and short stories he had written. Some of what I had read tied in with the stories he told me. His descriptions helped me pull it all together, but I still had so much more I wanted to hear about, and Frank had much more to tell.

Sadly, I never got to see Frank again. He passed away after a very long and brave battle with cancer. I so regret that I didn’t get to know him sooner, but I also feel blessed to have had the time I did with him. He impacted my life more in the short time I spent with him than others I have known for many years. I only hope he knows what a privilege it was for me to view glimpses of his life.

He adored his family. Some of his poetry and stories are about them. Frank’s great granddaughter was born prematurely a couple of weeks prior to his death. Due to her arrival in this world a few weeks early, she had to spend some extra time in the hospital. Frank never got to meet his great granddaughter here on earth. Yet, this attests to the fact that when life brings sadness, God somehow replaces it with joy.

I trust Frank is now at peace, free from pain, and sitting tall in the saddle as he gallops across the plains of heaven.

Thanks for reading my blog.