He was named James Travis Kyker, Jr. after his father, who left the family just two years after he was born. He would never know him. His mother remarried a man named James Vollmer, who raised him as his own son. When he grew up and had sons of his own, it was not the name of his father that he passed on to Jimmy, but the name of his step-father, who was a good and honorable man.
Grandpa was a faithful husband for forty-four years. He was the kind of dad who was present. He was faithful, steady, and entirely dependable. He was strong, capable, and delighted by Jimmy, who was the baby of the family. Jimmy was welcome right by his side, whether he was changing the oil in one of his many trucks, or hunting, or fishing. He was the kind of dad who worked hard and played harder. He coached all of the teams, cheered on the sidelines of every game, and always believed that Jimmy would succeed at whatever he put his hand to (and he was right). He was a force to be reckoned with; in the early years the scales tipped only slightly more toward his nature of over-flowing love and generosity than they did toward his bear-like temper. But by the time I met him that bear was beginning to soften, and I’m told that it was owing to the arrival of the grandkids.
I was nineteen when I met him for the first time at a birthday party for my would-be nephew who was turning four. He called me Sweet Pea that day, and I’m not sure he ever called me anything else. He welcomed me into his family with his strong arms that were open wide and, whether he actually believed it or not, he made me feel like I could do no wrong in his eyes. When we had our first baby - a son - Jimmy wanted to give him his dad’s name.
The intensity of his love for our children will be one of the things I will be most grateful for in my life. He took his role of Delighted Grandpa very seriously (and tested the limits of my motherly patience with what I often saw as excessive treat-giving). He loved nothing more than to be where my kids were, whether that was in his home or ours. They requested his Famous French Toast for breakfast, and his grilled steaks for dinner, and he obliged them happily. He taught them to snorkel in his pool, shoot guns in his yard, and play Euchre at his kitchen table. He took them out for ice cream and doughnuts every time I let him (and a few times when I didn’t). When we lived three hours away from them he’d ask if they could spend the night. If we said they could he’d drive to our house, pick them up, and take them back all in the same day (and then beg for an extra night “since it was so far”). They called him Plop Plop and they had him wrapped around their fingers.
Gaga and Grandpa moved in with us five years ago, soon after his diagnoses of Parkinson’s Disease, and we were given the distinct honor of helping care for him as his mind and body slowly weakened. These years have been filled with hard work, some fear and worry, and a lot of sadness over what this terrible disease does to a body. We watched him become less and less like his strong and able self, and that’s a heart-breaker. But there was also tenderness; in him, in Martha, and in our kids. He needed them and they were glad to return all of the love he’d built up in them. There was a lot of laughter. We’ve filled a journal with Grandpa Stories, like the one where he traveled from the basement bedroom all the way to Travis and Sam’s upstairs bedroom in the middle of the night, shined a flashlight in Travis’s eyes and asked, “Are we at all worried that someone will come and steal the washing machine?” Or the one where he told me that the breakfast I had made for him wasn’t one that he’d order at a restaurant. And there was the time Jimmy and I woke up at 1:00 in the morning to find him sitting on the chair next to our bed, mad that “the Gaga won’t get up and make me any dinner!” Mid-night wanderings and the kitchen frequently went together.
This week, when his body began to fade even further still, Jimmy brought him home. He made all of the arrangements in one morning, and by mid-afternoon he was home and settled in his own room. He was surrounded by his wife, a son, a daughter-in-law, and six grandkids and, once again, we got to take care of him. We got to make him comfortable. We got to laugh together over his antics, cry together over his steady love for us, and pray prayers of gratitude together for the goodness of having been given his presence in all of our lives. Everyone was able to have a moment with him to say goodbye. Come Thou Fount was playing quietly when he left this world, just twenty hours after he came home.
Eli has his tenderness and his bright, smiley blue eyes. Jack has his fierce love of snuggling. Ben has his attention to detail, and his long, thick eyelashes. Caroline has the nickname “Peach” that he gave her the summer after she was born (“She’s as sweet as a peach!”). Sam has his intensity and his devotion to UK basketball. James Travis Kyker, III has his name.
Jimmy has his square jawline, his strong brow line, and his chin dimple. He has his fierce loyalty, his commitment to honor, and his dedication to caring for his people well. And I have a heart and soul made bigger and fuller for having had him for a father-in-law.
