I can’t believe my parents have been gone now for almost a year, my father on November 3 and my mother three days later on November 6. Last year at this time, my mother was battling the end stages of lung cancer, and my father was doing all he could to care for my mother while at the same time taking over her duties as Orleans fire and ambulance dispatcher. It was not an easy time for either of them, but both believed the love each of them had for the other could weather any storm and beat any disease.
But the battle of death can never be won by any of us. To continue to live on this earth beyond the day that God has chosen for you to journey back home is never plausible.
Someone once told me that as soon as we are born, we begin to die, and I suppose that is true. But God has a plan for each of us, and his plan was big and bold for my parents. The plan was for them to fall in love, marry, have six children, and to be pillars in their community. Those of us who knew and loved Bill and Annette Lapierre know that their time on earth was both memorable and well lived.
Both my parents cherished their roles in the family. But even more than being called father and mother, grandpa and grammy, my parents adored being known as fire chief (retired) for my father and the Orleans fire and ambulance dispatcher for my mother. Although their family sacrifices were many (missed baptisms, graduations, and family reunions, to name a few) neither of them ever wanted their lives to be any different.
Even as a young boy, my father would ride the firetruck to fires and help put them out. He absolutely cherished being the Orleans fire chief, and if he ever had to choose between going to a fire or attending a family event, the fire always won out.
My mother, who was courted by my father all through her high school years, was given permission by her father, Arthur Butler, to marry Bill as soon as she graduated, and that she did, as they were married in June the year of her graduation, 1953. A few years after they settled into home life and began raising children, my mother decided that she, too, wanted to somehow help the Orleans Fire Department and be a part of what my father loved so dearly.
In the early seventies, they purchased a CB radio and base, which then could be used during a fire between my mother and firemen, seeing if any equipment was needed. When that system became obsolete, they went to walkie talkies, and finally to actual base radios installed in the firetrucks and in our home. Speakers were even installed in the kitchen so that my mother could hear a fire being dispatched from any room in the house.
Woe to any person trying to speak when the fire radio would sound.
Bill and Annette’s children’s and grandchildren’s lives were centered around the fire department’s schedule. We could plan for them to attend a baptism or even a college graduation, but only time would tell if my parents would attend. On the day of the scheduled family event, it would depend on if there was a fire call or not if one or both of them could go.
But that was my parents’ lives, and both would not have traded any of it. They were happy with their lives and felt blessed to be a part of their community. Even at my father’s advanced age of 80, he was still active as a volunteer fireman, the answering service for both Barton and Orleans villages, the town fire warden, and the chaplain of American Legion Post 23.
In the summer of 2008, my brother Bill surprised them with compact discs (CDs) he had ordered off the Internet that had their favorite songs on them. My father was given the CD by Roy Aiken with “I’ll Fly Away,” and my mother was given the CD by Holly Dunn with her beloved “Daddy’s Time.” My mother held her hands as if in prayer, and after the song finished, told me about life on the Butler farm and of her father, who I only knew when I was a baby. My father tapped his hands and feet to the music and sang along with Roy Aiken.
I would love to finish this remembrance for my most adored and lovingly missed parents with these words sung by Holly Dunn from the song “Daddy’s Hands.” “I remember daddy’s hands folded silently in prayer, reaching out to hold me when I had a nightmare. I remember daddy’s hands, how they held my momma tight and patted my back for something done right. If I could do things over and live my life again, I would never take for granted the love in daddy’s hands.”
My father passed away in the middle of the night, so I never had the chance to tell him how very much I loved him, but I know in my heart he knows and I believe he will be right there waiting for me, to lead me home when my times comes. My mother had the chance to outlive my father, but only by three days. She got to see him lying in the casket that had daddy’s hands carved on the lid. She was able to have most of her children and grandchildren surrounding her bedside the day of her passing, even if it was only for a few minutes, as we had my father’s funeral to attend. We were able to hold her hand, and tell her face to face how very much we loved her and that we would be all right. We assured her that one day we would be together again, but I told her that by nightfall, she would be dancing with dad and that they would be together again forever and for always, where no pain or suffering would be waiting for them.
Finally, I want to say to those reading this remembrance, if you are lucky enough to still have your parents here with you, please tell them how very much you love them and appreciate them. I thought in October 2008, I had all the time in the world, but really I had only weeks left.
Bill and his beloved wife, Annette, are gone but will never be forgotten!
