Timopheus

Bright eyes, face swallowing grin, and spunky, Patrick Timothy came into the world with everything against him; the child of a raped mother, a victim of a rare disease, and a host of doctors saying he had no chance of surviving. On that December 8th the outlook for this sickly child was grim and most folks would've started to consider burial options but not the woman who was called in to be his foster mother. For her it was a chance to give a baby love even if the child's journey through this life was short.

We didn't see much of my mom the next six months as she spent every waking hour in the hospital with Tim, or "Timopheus", as she affectionately called him. He was frightening to look at; tubes running in and out of his head and he seemed so fragile but mom was confident he would be just fine. A trip to Galveston to see a specialist, a medical regimine prescribed and the little guy who shouldn't have lived through the night, much less the week, survived.

Survive doesn't seem adequate to describe his life because Tim thrived. When he finally got clear of hospital beds, he took off in his development. He walked, ran, and plunged headlong into the terrible twos. By the time he was three you couldn't seperate him from dad and for most of his life he was affectionately called "little Dale" by those of us who knew him best. He was the only brother who was brave (or should I say foolish) enough to run from dad when he was about to be punished. He could always have dad laughing so hard by the time he caught him I think the punishments were greatly diminished.

We watched him play football, work beside us, and finally find a joy in life in the form of his wife and in a career he loved. He was a great uncle, a wonderful brother, and one of the most compassionate men you would ever meet.

He enjoyed life for 32 years until the disease caught up with him and he died of adrenal failure, collapsing in a field outside of Friona, TX. He left a young widow, five brothers, two marvelous parents, a host of friends, and numerous nieces and nephews.

I know yesterday my mom wept for her "Timopheus" and I'm sure my dad went about his business with a heavy heart. He and my youngest brother Scott were such a blessing to them and even now Scott looks after them.

Speaking as a brother, I salute Tim and his short life. May we all learn to squeeze as much happiness out of life as he did in whatever time we are given upon this world.