After a hectic morning, brought to me by my own forgetfulness, I have just enough time to enjoy lunch before we say goodbye to my cousin, Ray Joy Wahl, Jr. At 54, he left our world way too soon. I am sitting at Clear Springs Cafe in the little town of Clear Springs, TX for the first time in I am not sure when.
I remember lunch here 20 years ago, almost to the day, after my paternal grandmother’s funeral. I remember my Godmother and her daughter were with us, and I think that my Uncle James and Aunt Katy were here too. I know that my parents and my new husband were here. Little did I know that my parents would both be gone before the end of the decade. Like my cousin Ray, my parents left this world way too soon.
As I sit here overindulging in fried shrimp, coleslaw, and the best chicken tenders on the planet, I realize that this place ruined hushpuppies and coleslaw for me. I always want hushpuppies and coleslaw that I order at other places to be EXACTLY like they are here. I am always disappointed anytime I order either anywhere else. I love the look people in Houston give me when I ask for fresh onion with my coleslaw as they serve it here at Clear Springs Cafe. Until this moment, I did not realize where I got the idea that I want fresh onion with my coleslaw, now I remember. It is rare that I come home and eat somewhere that I ate as a child and still love it as much as I did as a child. This is one of those rare occasions.
As I stroll down memory lane, I think about the last time that I saw Ray, just two short months ago at a high school friend’s funeral. I remember the days of him helping coach our softball team that his younger sister Monica played on with us. His sister was one of the best players on the team. I was a disaster at softball. Ray was always encouraging.
I remember Ray was there to pay his respects when I lost my father and then again when I lost my mother.
Of all things about Ray, I remember the evening after my uncle’s funeral. It was February 2007. So many years ago, yet I remember it all with complete clarity. My cousin, who had buried her father that morning, and I along with a few other close family members walked into a local bar in the little town of New Berlin, TX. As you might guess, New Berlin was founded, generations before my own, by people from Berlin, Germany. It is still very much a German farming community.
I am not sure what warranted the cold greeting we received by the patrons of the bar when we walked in. Everyone literally stopped and stared at us. There were whispers to go with the stares. Looking back, I think it was just that people did not know what to say. At the time it felt that we were unwelcomed and being talked about because my cousin is openly gay.
With a look of kindness in his eyes, and resolve in his posture, Ray set down his pool stick. He greeted us, and he helped us pull two tables together to accommodate us all. Then he asked what we were drinking. He walked over to the bartender and ordered us all a round of drinks. When the bartender whispered to him, asking who we were, he said for all to hear, “They are my family.” He then served us the drinks, and we all caught up on old times.
It is moments like this that we remember and carry with us in our hearts.
I finished writing the above words before I left Clear Springs Cafe last Thursday, and then I cried on my drive to Ray’s funeral. I arrived at the church to find a procession of big rigs in line alongside the hearse. I could not have imagined a better send off for a man that loved being a farmer and truck driver.
The parking lot was full. I entered the building to find the church also full. The service began with music and a slide show and went on to be the most meaningful memorial I have ever attended. His friend from birth, and the reverend of the church we were at, gave the service together. They invited folks to come up and share their memories of Ray. I could have sat there all day and into the evening listening to the stories, the moments we remember.
Family, new friends, and old friends spoke. I laughed, and I cried. I especially liked the stories that his stepson shared, and one told by his childhood friend about a time when they were caught outside a dance hall with beer. Ray loved to dance; he also loved to drink beer. Ray got pinched, and all the other kids ran. When the other kids finally got up the courage to go to the police station to get him out of jail, they found him at the station, not in jail. He was eating cake with our local police officers.
Ray was living his best life with his loving wife by his side. Family and God were everything to him in his life on Earth, and family and God are without a doubt everything to him in his eternal life.
A week has passed since we all said goodbye to this big-hearted man. I imagine that by now he has settled into his farmhouse in Heaven with endless fields to plow. I suspect he is enjoying family dinners with our mothers and grandparents that went on to Heaven before him. I hope that him and Dad are shooting pool.
Dear cousin, you lived right in your time here on Earth, and you will be missed. Until we meet again, Godspeed.