Every year about this time, I try to focus on the season and its message of thanksgiving, but there are times it seems Fate conspires against me. My father died on November 23rd of 2009 . . . which just happens to be the day upon which Thanksgiving falls this year. My brother-in-law was found dead of natural causes on November 11th of 2022. And last Wednesday evening, as I was putting the finishing touches on my weekly efforts and preparing to post it to our website, word came that my father-in-law had joined them.
I have known Frank Thomas for literally my entire life. His son and I were born in the hospital in Savannah 19 days apart and shared every classroom together from “Miss” Rubye Boaz’s kindergarten up through our senior year at Central High School . . . ‘cause everything revolved around the alphabet then and Shackelford and Thomas naturally fell together.
Forty-five of those years (come December 23rd) I’ve spent as a legal part of the Thomas clan, and that’s been an adventure, to say the least. When you walk into a room of Thomas men, first of all, you know they’re all related. Not only do they look alike, but they also have the same sense of humor . . . and everything else. It took me a minute to realize I was not only allowed but expected to dish out as good as I got. Better, if I could manage it—which wasn’t very often. Those Thomas genes run strong, as does their wit.
Over the last few years, Mr. Frank’s mind had begun to slip . . . actually, it was on a rapid downhill slide. But most of the time you’d never know it. He had perfected the art of making you believe he not only understood everything you said but would remember and be able to relay it to others. Like the time TVEC came to repair the riser a tree limb took out at their house. He had been the office manager there for years, so they knew or knew of him, and had no problem explaining their work to him. And they were amazed when my husband called to ask if they were done—and told them Mr. Frank didn’t even know they’d been by.
Throughout his life, family and God were his focus. Work came in a close third, quickly followed by his hobbies. He wasn’t a hunter or a fisherman. His back wouldn’t allow him to hike and drastically affected his golf swing, meaning he played more at golf than actual golf. But his hands were never still. That man loved to create, and his craftmanship was to be both admired and envied. And everyone in the family benefited from his need to stay busy. The first grandchild received a walnut cradle, lovingly handmade and now used for two generations of Mr. Frank’s descendants. There were rocking horses for the grandkids and white reindeer for the yard. A Coca-Cola crate wagon and stepladders disguised as stools. And we can’t forget the rocky ‘raffe—a giraffe complete with a long neck and rope tail that was big enough for a child to ride on. He made the first one for the same grandson who spent his early months sleeping in the cradle. But it was borrowed by a friend of his to make a pattern . . . and when it returned home years later, it was a pile of pieces. So, Mr. Frank made a second one, because his first great-grandchild was coming along, and every kid needs a rocky ‘raffe.
Even though the years had not necessarily been kind to him physically and had finally betrayed him mentally, he never lost his sense of humor. I believe it became part of his defense mechanism for those moments when he didn’t know how to respond because his mind simply could not process the question or the event.
At the age of 94 this man who never wanted to be a bother to anyone drifted off to sleep last Wednesday evening and simply didn’t wake up. At least not on this earth. And I’m absolutely certain his siblings and his son were waiting for him when he arrived, probably asking what took him so long since he was always very prompt.
Usually at Thanksgiving I’ll post my blogging efforts a day early so I can do a traditional “Happy Thanksgiving!” post on the actual day. But this one time I’m gonna deviate from the norm. I am always aware of how exceedingly blessed I am and try to always be grateful for those blessings, even when they’re tinged with grief. So, this year I want to take this day to acknowledge with deep gratitude the blessings of friends and family, especially those who will not be here to physically celebrate the holiday with us. Frank Thomas accepted me as one of his own and treated me accordingly. He was a man from whom I have learned much about life and service . . . one who will not be forgotten as long as his great-grandchildren live and hopefully beyond. And what better way to express our thanksgiving than to acknowledge that kind of life?
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926. She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
