Birth date: Mar 14, 1930 Death date: Jan 16, 2012
Johnnie A. Butcher, 81, passed away on Monday, January 16, 2012 in a local hospital. Mr. Butcher retired from the United States Army after 25 years of service. Following retirement from the Army, he worked with Lubrication Systems Read Obituary
I will miss you smile the most and a tender hug from you. Your blue eyes was such a contrast from my own Dads but always sparkled with a tender heart.
I am proud to say that you are my uncle. I remember you in the front yard talking and laughing with Dad it seems on a daily visit. It was when you worked for that company after you retired from the army. Dad was very happy to see you too.
Now you and all your beloved family are together I know you are having a really good time there in heaven.
I will miss you until we meet again. Watch out after us.
I love you ,Uncle Johnnie.Growing up I always thought you were so handsome.Wish I could have spent more time with you before you got sick.I love your precious
wife,Aunt Mary Lou.oxoxoox
hey papal i just wanted to say that i miss and love you soooooooooo much i'm going to miss coming home from school and you saying hi to me and waving at me and me always coming in your room and telling you goodnight i will always think of u and miss and love u
I'm glad I got the privilege of knowing you as a man, as family and as a friend. Because of you, many have smiled. Now many shall cry. We only cry for us however, you've fought hard and seen enough pain. You deserve this rest and to smile while doing it. One last handshake, James
Papaw I know I am and was not around a lot but I want you to know that I love you and I will miss you. I am sorry I didn't get to know you very well. I will see you again one day. Love Joel Ray
Death Is Nothing At All Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner. All is well.
Please Give Him a Junkyard, God by Jan Lynne 1995 "Do you believe in God?" I asked my father. "Of course," he answered. "Do you think you'll go to heaven, Daddy?" "Doubt it." "Why?" "Because I'm a mean ol' son-of-a-bitch." My father's reply didn't shock me, but I can't help but wonder if he knows something I don't. I know what I've been taught about going to heaven, and what I believe. With variations of detail, a lot of what people say is just about the same story, disregarding the grace of God and our salvation: if you're good, you think you might have a chance; if you're bad, you don't. Even for those who don't believe we go to heaven at all, some good coming to us in an afterlife usually boils down to having been a good person throughout life on earth. Hurting others and oneself, drinking, smoking, cussing, lying, lust of the eyes and lust of the flesh are just a few acts that are supposed to keep the doors to God and heaven closed. If that were the case, I'd have to say my father has plenty of reason for doubt. However, his reasoning that he's a "mean ol' son-of-a-bitch" leaves me pondering. Of course, he was only using an expression when saying he was a "son of a...," because he wouldn't really refer to his mother as such. Though I know little of his part-Cherokee mother, due to long distances of separation from extended family while my father served in the United States Army, I know he loved her enough to hitchhike many miles to go to see her when he was on leave. When he was only three years old, his father, a Dutch-German self-proclaimed preacher, cut his foot during a rainy fishing trip and died of blood poisoning. His mother never remarried and my father eventually joined the effort to continue taking care of his "Ma." I have never known him to speak unkindly of her. As for "mean," the word just doesn't fit the description my father's family, friends, coworkers, and acquaintances would give him. My mother, however, would have to argue that some of what he has done with a smile on his face during forty-seven years of marriage has been mean--for he has been guilty of breaking her heart a few times. Why she stayed with him through years of such heartaches, long separations, and hardships during his army career may have much to do with the fact that it was harder for a woman to survive without a husband decades ago and divorce was more avoided. However, I am sure it had much to do with him winning over her heart time and time again. He still brings her flowers. Just today, she told me that he brought her a dozen red roses only days after giving her red roses and red carnations on their forty-seventh anniversary. He still knows how to tell her he loves her, soften her, or tell her he's sorry. My father has a way with people. I don't believe I've ever known, or heard of, anyone who has not liked him. If he offends you in any sense, you just have to forgive him. His enemies, if there are any, have always been in hiding. No, my father's no angel and he sure has made my mother, sisters, and I angry with him sometimes, but I've never known anyone outside our family to be angry with him. People immediately like him and don't seem to find fault with anything he does. From as far back as I can remember, he brought home young lonely soldiers who thought the world of him during his twenty-five years of military service. Able to retire on his sixty-fifth birthday this year, after over twenty-one years of employment with Lubrication Systems where he is a senior lube technician, he met his employer's and coworker's regret that he might. Those he's had too many drinks with have most-likely enjoyed his company, possibly beginning at a very young age. When his father died, his oldest brother turned to bootlegging to make a living for the large fatherless family until about a year after World War II began. My father was ten years old when they moved from an old wooden house at the top of a hill in Trawick, Texas near Nacogdoches, to Baytown, Texas where three of his older brothers went to work in the steel mill. He has partaken of
Daddy, you are the greatest man I've ever known. You gave us so much love and we have loved you so. Missing you will never be something I can get used to, and I look forward to seeing you again. I love you, always.
Well old man you will be missed. Evertime I go deer hunting I will think of you . I hope you will be happy getting to see my mom and dad again But just Rember we will all be togher again soon...... Love you and you will allways a very special place in my heart .
