I don’t know if it’s a uniquely Southern thing, or maybe a rural thing, but there has always been the concept of “the Old Folks” in my life. The Old Folks are the oldest generation still alive in a family, usually grandparents or great-grandparents-occasionally great-great-grandparents, although that’s gotten to be a very rare case in modern society. They didn’t even have to be family. I remember when the Old Folks
included the honorary grandmother and grandfather, who were simply our
next door neighbors.
The Old Folks are the repository of family stories, wisdom gained through a long life and the ultimate backstop when hard decisions have to be made. They’re who you go talk to when you, as a kid or an adult, just can’t figure out what to do.
Old Friend’s wife lost her father this morning. He was in his late 80s and had been declining for a while, but the enforced social isolation forced on us by Covidiots like our
Obersturmbannfurhrer Governor Cooper hastened his death. As the “2 weeks to save the hospitals” grew into months, the inability to get out, to see his friends and family or even sniff fresh air seemed to use up the last reserves of strength he had. Not permitted to visit with family or friends, he just faded away.
He was the last grandparent or parent in our circle of close friends. Now, we are the Old Folks. I hope we are half as good at it as our predecessors.