As Ken began to grow weaker, I worried about what would be Jesse’s and Benjamin’s memories of their Dad’s final words to them. I asked Ken if he would like to do letters for them. At first, he shook his head. But about twenty minutes or so later, he said that he would like to do that. So, I brought the laptop into the bedroom and typed, with tears pouring down my face, as he dictated. We did the one for Benjamin first.
To Benjamin from Dad("Scooter" is what Ken called Benjamin when he was a baby.)
Me and Jesse talk about you having all the energy you do, clapping and jumping, can’t sit still. It makes us tired to watch you. You’d be on the couch sleeping and I’d get up and go by and look at you and I can’t think how I could ever leave you. And I tell the Lord so. I tell the Lord that I’ve got to stay and take care of y’all. You and Jesse and your Mom. And I believed at the time that the Lord was going to let me stay. But God knows best. It’s not what I want, it’s what He wants . I prayed many days, that the Lord would leave me to take care of you, knowing that Mom could take care of you too, but it just wouldn’t be the same. Selfish that I wanted to be here for us to all be together, but it’s not always possible. Maybe God has other plans, I don’t know as of yet. But it doesn’t look too good. As time goes on, the doctor said the treatments were not doing much good. And I still believe, but sometimes it gets me down. My faith is not as strong. I can’t pray. But there are thousands of others praying for me. I was sitting on the couch and remember you clapping your hands, like an almost nine-year-old would be doing, with all that energy. But I didn’t feel good. I really felt bad. And I think I hollered at you and it made you cry. That’s when Mom reminded that you were just a little one, but I was thinking about myself. So since then, I’ve tried not to holler at you. Let you do what a nine-year-old would do. And I had you scared to do what a nine-year-old would do. And I wanted to say “I’m sorry”. I do like that because you don’t know what to do and I don’t know what to do. You can’t comprehend what I’m going through. And I don’t know how to do with you, so we kind of withdraw. You feel funny coming up to me and hugging me and I feel funny saying things to you, so we are kind of growing apart. I don’t know if there’s any way to change that or not. We may be lost in outer space. I hurt a lot. You know how it is when you hurt. But I love you, Benjamin, and I know you love me. We just don’t know what to do—there’s a gap. We can say “I love you” and we do, but we can’t express it, at least I can’t. I love you and I’m proud to be your Dad. And I love Jesse and I’m proud to be his dad. And I’m proud that y’all get along so good. He’s your only brother. I’m proud that y’all look after each other and he takes care of you and you take care of him. You can’t do some of the things Jesse does to take care of you and he can’t do some of the things you do to take care of him. You take care of each other’s needs. I don’t know what Jesse would do without you. So if it’s up to God to take me, as bad as I hate it, then He can have me. It’s His choice. Though we don’t know why. He’s the one that’s created us, and He knows the best things to do. We may never know why, but you’ve just got to keep on going. Keep on bowing down to worship our God through Jesus. Help your Mama. She’s going to have it hard. I know you are going to have it hard. But time will go on. Things will be better. Y’all gotta keep on living. Life goes on. I love you, little Scooter!
Love, Dad
(Dictated by Ken Lunsford, November 4 or 5, 2004)
Ken was absolutely exhausted when we finished Benjamin’s letter, so we put the laptop away and said we would do Jesse’s letter later. Unfortunately, “later” came at the hospital a day or so later. Ken’s mind was very muddled and he was in severe pain, so Jesse’s letter is shorter and a little “fuzzier”. The sailboat picture Ken refers to was something Benjamin painted for his Dad at his appointment with the counselor. I put it up on Ken’s hospital wall so he could see it whenever he was awake. Now, it is framed and on the mantel in my office.
To Jesse from Dad:
Jesse, it’s been a long time. We thought that everything would be okay, well I did, anyway. Not knowing which way the Lord was going to take us. I remember Benjamin running off and leaving us and he’s a hot shot on that bicycle. Me and you, we couldn’t keep up with him. I remember he’d get away ahead of us. I can only tell you things that happened in a short distance back. You know I love you and how glad I am to be your dad. You have a good dad and I have two good sons and I have a good dad. You have a good Mamaw and Papaw and Grandmom and Granddad. You’re the one to be strong. Time goes on—life goes on. I know you won’t ever forget me, but you must go on. Talk your Mama into keeping some of our things. Try to keep our blue van—it’s a good one. Try to keep some of our houses, but it doesn’t really matter. If you can’t, you can’t. I know they make trouble for your Mom. Just do what you have to do because I won’t be around to help you. It will be up to your mother. And an extra house or so may not be in your blood. Me and Mom thinks differently. It don’t mean she’s right and I’m wrong. Just different. We’re typing this up here at the hospital and I don’t know exactly where my mind is. Try to look after your brother. Your brother loves you. He needs you like I told him, he needs you and you need him. Y’all always gotta stay close. Looking at little Benjamin’s picture he brought up. Must be from Sunday school. Picture of a sailboat. You know I love you and if I could change things, I would. The Lord let us be together longer than we suspected. But it’s God’s will—God’s purpose. I’d like to be around to watch you grow up, but it don’t much look like it will be like that. I can’t tell you how much I love you. I don’t have the words. There’s no way to describe it. I would have liked to go to the lake and go swimming more this year and go bike riding, but we didn’t get to go. I love you forever and ever.
Love, Dad
(Dictated by Ken Lunsford, November 8, 2004)
I saved the letters to give to the boys later. Would have probably saved them longer than I did, but Pastor Keith mentioned the letters during Ken’s funeral. I think I gave them to Jesse and Benjamin at Christmas, the month after Ken died. They are heartbreakingly sweet and tender, and I am so glad that Ken did them for his boys.
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