Thursday. Daddy,who has been asleep for weeks but can hear and knows what is going on, rose up and gave his daughter Julie a kiss in a dual symbol of love and good-bye. He then refused to eat or drink for the first time, and Julie informed him it was his choice. The wild cat, that only comes around for food but nobody can touch, came and sat on the porch window by his bedside. Julie continued to play mountain music and old hymns, Daddy's favorite music.
Friday. Julie stayed up most of the night with him, going to bed at 4 a.m., and was awakened by the care giver Valerie at 7:30 a.m. Julie was with Daddy when he stopped breathing, quietly and in no pain, with his loved ones around him. Fitting, Julie said, for him to leave on Good Friday.
He fought many battles throughout his life, from Pearl Harbor to helping migrant children in North Carolina get an education. And win or lose, and he must have lost many, the most important thing was to do the right thing, to battle with care, honesty, and giving. In that, he won every time.
Julie had been going through his belongings, and among the many awards of thanks for his Boy Scout, church and other charity work, there was a homemade trophy by a mother who wrote on it, "Thank you for treating Austin like your own son." An extraordinary gentleman of whom the world has and knows too few, he gave to everyone. His life was treating everyone like family. Thank you Y.A. Taylor.
