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| Begonias for Harry by Bob Brabham |
A week after Harry’s funeral, I planted begonias in an antique syrup kettle situated on my front porch.
Harry Archer Livermore made his way to South Georgia in 1988. A native of Kansas, an Army veteran, educator, and newly divorced, Harry met Janice Ellen Thompson Howell. They married six months later.
Making a home in Valdosta, Harry spent 26 years with Jan. Their life together made up of blending families, friends, churches, cats, and teaching careers. When Harry retired from teaching, he began writing for Valdosta Magazine. When he became the editor, Jan became a contributing writer. And together, they poured much time, energy, and affection into bringing the quarterly issues to publication.
In the Spring 2009 edition, Harry wrote an endearing story about his father, Harry E. Livermore. As his father lay dying in a hospital bed, Harry sat in vigil. Looking out the window, he spotted an old man planting flowers by his front porch. Having had all the death he could stand, Harry made his way outside the hospital to the old man. He asked if he could sit on the steps and watch him work.
In a short, yet fitting dialogue, Harry learned the old man was the same age as his father. Many years before, the old man had watched his own father die in the same hospital where Harry’s father lay dying.
“These are begonias,” the old man said to Harry and held up the potted blooms. “I’m planting them for your father. . . and, every time you see begonias . . . you will think of him, and you’ll know your father is all right.”
Harry loved to tell that story. He was an avid story teller.
He had lively stories of growing up in Kansas as a preacher’s kid. He told stories about Indian head pennies, school fights, and getting a spanking for lying. There were Army stories from Korea about fellow comrades, honey wagons, and getting drunk when his sweetheart from home got married. There were teacher stories of students large and small. He told stories about his grandparents, parents, brothers, his sons, and the grand kids. He even had a story about a four-foot beaver.
Dr. Paul Livermore, Harry’s younger brother from Rochester, New York, once reflected that the penchant for story telling is a family trait owing to their Grandmother Walker. Their trait also lends to embellishing.
When Harry’s 70th birthday encroached, his good friend Bob Brabham, a video, audio and film artist encouraged Harry to publish his stories. Harry consented. Bob did the charcoal drawings that are reproduced in the little book called, Thoughts in My Seventieth Year, and produced a CD of Harry putting his voice to the stories.
One day over lunch, Bob introduced Harry to the late Johnny B. Lastinger, Publisher Emeritus of Valdosta Magazine. That brilliant move led to more great stories that Harry wrote and edited about our community. Yet, my favorite story is published in Thoughts in my Seventieth Year. It’s where he recounts all the loves of his life. Jan was his last love.
“She makes me feel important,” Harry wrote about Jan. “She makes me want to be a better person. She makes me comfortable with her laughter . . . she can hold a kitten in her arms until it goes to sleep. Her friends call her a treasure. Our children call her a blessing. We are growing old together and this is as good as it gets."
As for me, I first met Jan in 2003 through a lay ministry training course. I was drawn immediately to her faith, compassion, wisdom, and quick wit. Her ability to persevere through life’s toughest places without growing resentful or bitter amazed me. I've never known anyone like her. Without my knowing, she once showed Harry an assignment I'd completed for a writing class. When he contacted me about wanting to use the assignment as an article for Valdosta Magazine, I was elated. Life couldn’t get much better for a girl who had never left the farm.
When I consider the masses of truly talented writers who never see their names in a by-line, I feel especially grateful. Getting published, though, is a mere by-product of all they have meant to me.
My family and I shared many meals with Harry and Jan over the years. We never considered having any celebration, be it birthdays, graduations, anniversaries, or holidays without their being among us. They entrusted us into their lives. They loved and nurtured us like we were their own.
“She’s the dearest friend I’ve ever had.” I said to Harry when Jan lay so still and weak in a hospital bed.
“Mine, too.” He nodded.
Jan died on June 23, 2015, at Langdale Hospice House. She was 75. Harry, an avid story teller, died at their home on August 26, 2015. He was 80 and had grown old with his last love.
The story Harry loved to tell about his father also found its way into “Thoughts in My Seventieth Year.” But, taking those thoughts further, he wrote:
“I am now older than my father was when he died. Will anyone plant begonias for me?”
Yes, Harry, we will. And we will think of you. We will know that you’re all right.
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A similar article to this post was first published in the Winter 2016 edition of
Valdosta Magazine.
This post is made in memory of Harry and Jan Livermore, who died ten years ago this summer.
Begonias for Harry by Bob Braham
is a gift from Bob to help me remember Harry by planting begonias. Thanks again, Bob!
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