A Pause to Remember

There are tears mixed with smiles today as I prepare to attend the funeral of an uncle this weekend. W.F. Matthews married my mom's sister, Gladys.  The mid to late 1940's were a time when our country was working hard to recover from the years of WWII. Many of my uncles on both sides of my family were involved in various branches of service. 

One brother of my mom's, Cullen, was killed in France during the war, which made it even more stressful for the families because of others that were involved in the fighting.  W.F. was one of many, and found himself involved in the war in the Pacific and in southeast Asia. However, his ability to serve was short lived as he spent a majority of his military life in a prison camp. He was a member of the Lost Battalion, and knew first-hand the torturous treatment of the American prisoners. Many of his fellow captives died. All of them suffered tremendously. 

The bravery of such men has always been an inspiration to me. And now, knowing a little more of what they suffered and how they were treated, makes me appreciate them more. The freedoms associated with being American belong to us because of men like W.F. Matthews. 

His death this week brings sorrow for his immediate family, and our family will assemble this weekend to remember his life and celebrate his homecoming to be with the Lord. In addition to all other things he was involved in, his faith in God was always evident. That's why our sorrow is mixed with smiles as we know he is now home, his race as come to an end, his suffering is no more. 

My memories of W.F. go a long way back; before the years in San Angelo, to when he and Gladys lived in Midland. Our home was two lots down from theirs, and that vacant lot between us was the arena of many baseball games involving the neighborhood kids. Even after working hard all day long, Dad and W.F. would usually be out there with us to play the game. It was a teaching lesson, not only about baseball, but also about sportsmanship and life. 

The fun times were numerous and there was no cost involved. It was just two families struggling to get started with life, doing the best they could with what they had. Pardon me if I call them "the good ole' days."

Years later, after I was grown and married, I asked Gladys one day what ever happened to the picture of the horses and cowboys that hung over their couch in their Midland home. She tried to tell me the picture was worthless because it was a picture from a calendar they had framed. Later she dug through a closet and gave me the picture as a gift. It is my remembrance of them, and all the good times our families shared. 

I will be spending this weekend as a community and a country honor the life of W.F.  He was one of those heroes a kid could look up to, and grownups could depend on. He will be missed by Gladys, their sons Randy and Tommy, and their families.  Countless others will remember his accomplishments in work, in church, in his community, and in his nation.  May God's love continue with us in a world that could use a lot more men like W.F.

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