Arlie & Freddie: In Sickness and in Health

My grandfather and grandmother were born in 1913 and 1914, respectively. They married on August 6, 1938 at the end of the Great Depression, and spent the next sixty-six plus years together. They were together through births and deaths, joy and heartbreak, sickness and health. They stuck it out until the very end, and exactly six weeks after Grandmommie took her last breath, Granddaddy took his.

Remembering my grandparents

Maybe there really is something to that line about opposites attracting. As different as they were, it seemed to work. They seemed pretty different to me, at least. I realize that my view of them depends entirely on my faulty memory and limited knowledge of what they showed me as a grandchild. I’m also sure I tend to idolize and sugarcoat, as grandchildren do. Even though it would be up for debate, I’m pretty comfortable saying that my Granddaddy was one of the greatest men who ever walked the earth.

Granddaddy always wore Liberty overalls with a button-down shirt underneath unless it was Sunday morning. If he was out in the yard or garden, chances were he had his straight-billed Atlanta Braves hat or a hat from the local Co-Op on. He wore lace-up brown leather boots. He smelled like a sweet mixture of oranges, Old Spice, and a little sweat. He had eyes that sparkled and crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and that smile was the most genuine thing I’d ever seen. He was beautiful, perfect, and had the patience of Job. That was him, or my opinion of him, albeit grandiose. I’m still sticking with it.

Grandmommie had piercing blue eyes and flawless porcelain skin. She was highly intelligent. She made the most beautiful quilts, and she was an amazing cook. She was quick-witted, but could also have a bit of a quick temper and a sharp tongue at times. She held herself with confidence. She wasn’t just tough, she seemed tough. She was so sweet to us grandkids, but I recall seeing that little jaded bit of her slip out now and then when she barked Granddaddy’s name.

Arlie Campbell seemed to take everything in stride or with a grain of salt. He seemed to deal with everything that came his way and move along. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle his feathers. I’m sure he got angry, but we never saw it. We saw his evenness. When I think of him, I see him on the porch swing with an apple and an old wooden-handled paring knife in hand. It seemed like the birds were always singing, and the sun was always shining on him, and everything was well.

My grandmommie's decline due to Alzheimer's

As they grew older, Grandmommie seemed to age at a quicker rate than him. They both looked older physically, but eventually, she grew quiet. Freddie’s voice began to fade into memory. She never said anything wrong really, but she didn’t talk much. She was too proud to ever misspeak, so she drew into herself.

Her physical state also declined. She got up and moved around the house unassisted less and less. Eventually, she moved into a nursing home. Granddaddy drove to see her every day until it got to be too much. He moved into the same room, and still doted on her even though the nurses could have handled everything. He still wanted to take care of her. She still wanted it to be him doing so. He was still patient.

My granddaddy's final goodbye

Grandmommie’s breathing slowed and finally stopped in January of 2005 at 90 years old. Granddaddy held her hand, stroking it and saying how sweet and pretty she was as she took her last breath. He had been with her for more than sixty-six years. He had stayed by her side. He had dealt with her with such patience even when she wasn’t easy. He had taken care of her in so many ways. He had loved her, and with Freddie’s death, Arlie’s job was done at 91.

Everyone should be so lucky as to have an Arlie Campbell in their lives. As Grandmommie declined into dementia, he was a constant for her. He was still steady. He was still even. He was still there so many decades later taking care of her. I know deep down he wasn’t flawless, but he was as close as I’ve ever known. He was a masterclass in patience, in dedication, and in love. I hope to be half of the person he was.