Bill Died Yesterday


Yesterday Bill died.  Bill, our friend.  The Bill with a smirk, always a wonderful smirk on his face.  The mischievous tinkle.  The face I always looked forward to seeing, I’d search for Bill across the crowded Sunday Morning service.  Worried he’d someday be gone.

What will the world be like without Bill?  Our kind-hearted friend.  The guy always with time to listen.  Who loved to see me.  The smile he’d get when he saw our kids.  The stories he and Ted shared, standing out in the church parking lot, unhurried – they would talk.  A car where they were standing needed to back out, they would move to one side, and keep talking.  They’d have to move again.  And still, so much to say.  Never too busy to share another story, he and Ted could talk about anything at all.  Bill holding onto his stick (“It’s not a cane”, he’d say) – his son had carved it for him.  He’d tell about the trips across the states.  All about the adventures.  About the wind at one of the rest stops so strong someone had to help him to the restroom.  Into his 90’s, he was still on the go.  He’d tell about his flying days.  He was a flight instructor during WWII.  Ted and Bill both loved airplanes, they had that in common.  Ted knows which planes he flew.  I can never remember. 

Bill would come along on church campouts.  He’d join the kids for the campout bike parades.  He’d decorate his bike up fancy too.  And always the twinkle, the smirk. 

Bill, such a thoughtful guy.  I remember telling him one Sunday that Marty, our son, who he was fond of, had graduated from H.S.  I invited him to the graduation party.  I really didn’t expect him to make it.  His wife had passed away and doubted he was getting out much.  He came walking up, a bit unsteady on his feet even then, but came to congratulate Marty. 

Losing his wife I think was so hard on him.  He’d tear up anytime he talked about her.   The wife he’d spent a lifetime with, raising so many children that at her funeral I lost track of the count.  Their children, birth children and foster kids.  A lifetime of giving love to each other, and to their many kids and friends.  Grace had a stroke and for years Bill took care of her, bringing her to church in the wheelchair, his patient easy-going ways.  It was definitely true love.

Bill would steal purses.  You’d be chatting with him, and get distracted.  A few minutes later you’d realize your purse was gone.  After scrambling, you’d notice across the room, your purse and a few others hanging from Bills shoulder.  He did this enough times that the church finally presented him with his own purse, which he faithfully wore with his Sunday best. 

This story, it happens everyday.  Good people are born, live, then they die.  He was 96, after all.  And still, I can’t make it OK in my head that it will work for Bill to be missing.  I suppose that would be due to the significant lack of Bill’s in this world.  The eyes that see you from across the room.  The sideways smile.  The twinkle.  The dry jokes.  The smirk. The trust to share a story.  Taking the time to do so.  The interest in others. The caring questions.  The lifetime of giving and loving.  A man whose choices benefited so many. 

I suppose he stole things other than purses.  Like hearts.  It’s a habit.  Whenever I find my seat in church, I hunt for the site of Bill.  Bill died yesterday.  Finally with Grace again.  The twinkle.  The smirk.  Though he’s gone from us, he’s where he’s been headed all along.  A little support through the windy patch, and he’s arrived.  


All I Ask

by Gordon Jenkins

Beautiful girls, walk a little slower when you walk by me

Lingering sunsets, stay a little longer with the lonely sea

Children everywhere, when you shoot at bad men, shoot at me

Take me to that strange, enchanted land grown-ups seldom understand

Wandering rainbows, leave a bit of color for my heart to own

Stars in the sky, make my wish come true before the night has flown
And let the music play
as long as there’s a song to sing
And we will stay younger
than Spring


  1. A beautiful tribute to Bill. My husband says your feelings are proof that we were never meant to experience death. There are many holes left by our beloved ones. It is stunning to me that the world goes on without them. I do not always feel my world does! As always, A., wonderful insights. So glad you knew Bill and sorry he is gone. May you meet again one day.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I knew Mr. Clemans, Went to school and graduated with Tom in 1964. Love Mr. and Mrs. Clemans The poem Bill is just beautiful. Thank you for doing that. It was so amazing…..Much love to Tom and Debbie and all of their family and all of the others who loved him. He will be missed.. Susie Jeffers

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Susie, It’s nice to meet you here on this blog. I have a feeling Bill and his family have a whole collection of really good friends they’ve collected over the years, you being one of them:) I thought of this while writing this blog… that Bill was our friend and yet we really don’t know his family and friends outside of church. Thank you for the kind words.


  3. I’ve been totally proud of my dad for most of my life, and believed I could never become more proud. But as soon as I read your reminiscing, my pride in him grew even more. I thank you and Ted for being Dad’s friends, and for making his life richer. Thanks again for this awesome tribute! Tom C. (oldest son)
    (And thank you Susie for your kind comment!)


    1. Tom, your Dad’s kindness rubbed off on his son. Thank you for being Henry’s shop teacher last summer. He told us how caring you were as a teacher and he even signed up for this summer again (your class). I feel terrible I missed saying goodbye to your Dad. I wasn’t on the prayer chain and didn’t know he had taken a turn. I hear he was just himself right to the end. What an amazing guy. One of the first people I’ll look up on the other side.


  4. Ted told me that a month or so ago, standing there in the church lobby, for some random reason he asked Bill “Are the women still chasing you, Bill?” to which Bill replied “Ya, but not very fast”.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Amelia, thank you so much for writing about my Dad; I read it almost every day. I live in Massachusetts and didn’t get to see him nearly enough. There were three things he always taught me, that I try to live up to … believe the best of people, don’t waste your time worrying, and enjoy the moment you are in. Thank you again for your kindness.


    1. Oh Jeanette, thank you so much for reaching out. I’d love to meet you sometime. I never did know his family other than Grace, who was just such a sweet person. One spring day she shared with me a recipe for Easter Peeps. I don’t know where I put that recipe, but sure treasured it as she didn’t live long after that. And our son Henry took a shop class taught by Tom, who Tom appreciated so much.

      I love those three … believing the best in people, not wasting time worrying and enjoying the moment. He sure lived those, didn’t he.

      When he died, that day I sat in my car and cried. I was parked at Tye Lake in Monroe when I found out. I think about it now… he was such an unusual person in being interested in others not getting anything himself out of the relationship, other than friendship.

      I miss him, too.



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