Paul Everett Stapleton

Paul Everett Stapleton was a beloved father, husband, grandfather, and friend! Not long before my father lost his ability to communicate, he simply asked me to write. I have been journaling and instead of offering you all an obituary full of factual numbers and bits of information I thought I might share an excerpt from my journal. My father was a man of incredible strength and also of sensitivity. He was resilient and vulnerable. He had achieved a balance in his life that put any person in front of him at ease. He loved his wife intensely for 46 years and she reciprocated that love right back every single minute. One last bit of information for context: my father and mother lost 2 sons prematurely, so this excerpt will begin with a poem written about their oldest son, Bucky.

In September of 1993 my oldest brother died in a motorcycle accident. When we entered the mortuary to see Bucky's lifeless body on a metal table, I later wrote about this experience at the age of 10 with the following poem:

I saw a smile on his face when he got his dirt bike.

I saw a smile on his face when he got his motorcycle.

There was a smile on his face almost everyday.

Until one day I didn't see a smile on his face.

I couldn't even see his face.

It was wrapped in bloody gauze

And his body lay lifeless in a steel drawer.

Then I knew I would never see his smile again.

My mom told me to focus on the good memories.

I wiped out the bad memories.

My mom told me that I will see his face again, but I do not know when

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Days later my family and I were in the woods having a picnic in the same area Bucky liked to spend time. My dad was alone near a tree, and when I approached him he had a blank stare as he was looking out into the distance. We somehow started talking about Bucky. My dad said he asked God if he would bring him back to life. That was the first encounter I had with a man with a hopeless hope. There was no logic to it. There was no reasoning behind it. Nothing scientific or calculated decision-making involved. It was simply a hopeless request filled with dreaded weary grief. A grieving heart doesn't care for rules. A grieving heart hopes to be healed. And that moment was the beginning of the long road to healing for my dad through his bargaining with his Creator.

I recall the bargaining happening before he asked God to bring Bucky back to life. My mother was talking with a family member or friend on the phone one night after my brother's death. The funeral hadn't taken place. From the conversation I understood my mother explaining to the listener on the other end that my dad had asked for a prescription from his doctor.

"There is nothing on this earth that I can prescribe for that," my mom said.
That was referring to the heavy emotions burdening my father's heart. The trauma from driving with my brother, Brad, and my mom, to the scene of the motorcycle accident where Bucky had been seen lain on the street with paramedics. That was the grief pent up inside my father, and he was dreading the thought of losing control of his emotions in front of others. How could he, a strong, former army soldier, weep in front of dozens of family members, friends and colleagues? His initial answer to the question was to medicate his feelings-to numb the uncontrollable pain. Sadly, so many grieving victims of trauma escape into alcohol and drugs to find solace to their pain, and tragically this approach merely numbs the pain temporarily until the reality of that anguish resurfaces. Before the funeral my father, mother, two brothers, and myself went to the mortuary where Bucky's body was being prepared for cremation. Before this process there would be an autopsy. I was 10 years old and still now, 28 years after this moment I remember it so clearly. I saw his body laying on the steel table. There was a white sheet gently covering his lifeless body. As we approached his body my father collapsed over him. He hugged and grasped every inch of his first born son as if to say this is my heart, my soul, my bloodline, and you cannot take him away. He wept and wept. I had never seen something so powerful. I had never witnessed this raw vulnerability from my father. To see a grown man weep with such intensity was humbling and hopeful. I have never seen my dad grieve like that after that somber September day in 1993. What I marveled at most of all was the realization that this process I had witnessed unfold was the very medicine, the solution to my father's broken heart. That we humans feel such pain and anguish and weep with utter sadness; and that is the healing to a grieving soul.

I hope that all of your grieving hearts are comforted by the loving memories you have of my father. He loved you all so much and I know he would want you to cherish his memory by going out into nature, driving through the mountains with the sunroof open or top down; fishing on the lake, camping in the wilderness and soaking up the beautiful sites all across America. So please cry, weep, but most important, when that is passed laugh and nod to the nighttime sky where his soul wanders in that heavenly light skipping across the stars with his two sons under the warmth of our loving Creator.

Kindest regards,


t.j. stapleton