Blessed Assurance

Heaven gained another hero a few months ago.

My Granddaddy.

Hero is not a word that my Granddaddy took lightly. In fact, he hated being called a hero. Granddaddy, known to others as William (Bill) Leon Benson, Sr., dropped out of high school to be drafted into the United States Navy in World War II. He served in the European theatre in several major battles. Two of those were Operation Tiger and D-Day.

You all know what D-Day is, but you've probably never heard of Operation Tiger. That's because it was classified for many years. It was a practice drill for D-Day, and it took place on Slapton Sands off the coast of England. During this drill, they were attacked by German U-Boats. All the deaths of that day are attributed to D-Day, in fear that D-Day would fail if information was released.

Granddaddy survived both.

We knew nothing of his time at war for years. All we knew was that he was a cook in the Navy somewhere in Europe. He never spoke about what he experienced, until the movie Saving Private Ryan came out. That's when he told us, "I was there."

His job with the Navy was the drive the landing craft onto the beach to release the soldiers.

He only had to make one pass onto Omaha Beach.

He said the movie depicted it perfectly. Men lying motionless in the water, clogging the beach to where the landing crafts couldn't even reach the shore. Soldiers having to jump out of the boat in hopes to reach the shore, but being dragged under because of the weight of their packs and the tide. The first line of men never making it off the boat because they were mowed down by German machine gun fire after the doors were let down.

Granddaddy always said, "The water was red. Red with American blood."

Granddaddy saw this with his own eyes. Even until his last days, he would have nightmares about these experiences - hearing the men screaming, seeing them in the water, and he was helpless to save them.

It is because of these men that Granddaddy did not like to be called a hero. He said those who died on those days, and all throughout the war, were the heroes. He was just another man, doing his duty to his country.

We, of course, feel differently.

Granddaddy is a hero because he came back. He lived to tell the stories of these thousands of men whose lives are often forgotten from a war that is often forgotten. He wept every time the National Anthem was played or he saw the flag raised. He believed in that flag and in those words and he had lived it out. He is a hero because he spent many sleepless nights weeping for their pain and praying for their families.

And thanking God that he was fortunate enough to return to build a life for his family in the country he loved so much.

After the war, he married my Grandmother, who he had fussed and fought with through the mail the entire time he was gone. They met before he was drafted at a scrap metal drive at the local high school. He liked to tell people "she was the best piece of scrap I found all day."

Somehow or another, she got mad at him while he was gone, and burned all his letters from war. We will never know why they were fussing, or the sweet things that he said to make up for it in those letters.

They married quickly, and then had babies quickly. My Aunt Pug (Sharon) came just a little over 9 months after their wedding day, and my Uncle Billy, just a little over a year later. It was nine more years until my mom came along.

Grandmother told me last week nobody told her how to prevent things. All three babies were accidental blessings.

Their children blessed them with six grandchildren, five grandchildren-in-laws, seven great-grandchildren, two great-great granchildren, one great-grandchild with him in Heaven, and our sweet little girl on the way.

Granddaddy told my husband before we got married that we didn't have in-laws in this family. We are all family. Once you're in, you're in.

Then he told Ben in a very quiet voice, "And if you hurt my grandbaby, you'll have to answer to Granddaddy." Even though he was quite feeble at the time, I think he meant it.

We all had a different relationship with Granddaddy, but ours was extra special. It's probably because I'm the favorite. :) I am the youngest grandchild. For a very long time, I was the baby in the family.

I spent countless hours on Granddaddy's "good" knee (the other had shrapnel in it from the war) while he told me stories, played Ride a Little Horsey, and singing his favorite song, Little Boy Blue.

Little Boy Blue was a song I'm pretty sure he made up and it had eleventy billion verses that were different every time. I was not allowed to get up until he decided he was finished.

His chair was always in the same place, and he was guaranteed to be there working crossword puzzles, reading the paper, or watching the Braves. Every time I walked behind his chair, I would mess up his hair (what little was there) or give him a kiss on the top of his head. It always made him grin and say, "I love you, baby."
I am going to miss him now every time I walk by that chair. I will miss going to their house and getting a big bear hug from him as a greeting. I will miss the way he picked at Grandmother until she got so frustrated with him that she threw up her hands. Then he would grin at us like a little boy. I will miss the way his voice got low when the conversation turned to something serious. I will miss the way he beamed when watching his grandchildren play or holding a new grandbaby for the first time. I will miss hearing him get choked up while saying the prayer before meals at family gatherings as he spoke of the loved ones who aren't here with us.

But praise God for blessed assurance. I know without a shadow of a doubt where my Granddaddy's faith stood. He spoke of the love of his Savior often. He was the faith leader of our family. He attended his church every Sunday, and when his body would no longer allow him to, he would listen to church on the radio, or watch it on his little TV that sat by his chair. When my mother was little, he would have her bring a hymnal to him, and she would sit on the arm of his chair, and he would sing her hymn after hymn.

I know today he is where he longed to be for several years since his health began to deteriorate. He is with his Savior. He is singing those hymns with the angels. He is having long conversations with my Dad. He is playing with our sweet Allie. He is walking on able legs, seeing with able eyes, and breathing with able lungs.

And he is waiting on the rest of us to join him.