During the early years of my parent's marriage, they lived in a quaint trailer park with a very close knit community of neighbors. They were particularly close to a couple named Irwin, who were actually old enough to be their parents. This friendship also extended to the Irwin's married daughter and family (with whom they still maintain a friendship), as well as Mr. Irwin's father, whom they affectionately referred to as "Grandpa Irwin". Grandpa Irwin, as he has been described to me, was a widower, an outdoorsman, and a spiritual man. His faithful companion in his latter years was his dog, Minnie. (Well, actually, her full name was Minnehaha Minnesota Mulligan!) Spiritually, Grandpa Irwin was not fond of churches and organized religion, but his practice was to worship and pray to his "creator" (his name of choice for Deity) in the outdoors, where he felt most at home.
My parents very much wanted children, but when I, their firstborn, arrived, I did so with a heart defect, a serious hemangioma, and a dismal prognosis. I was immediately transferred to a local children's hospital and the doctors thought I might live six weeks. My parents were heartbroken.
Grandpa Irwin, hearing the news of my birth, but not being aware of my condition, bounded into my mom's hospital room with a gift tucked under his arm. He left saddened and sorrowful. What happened next, he never told my parents, but he confided it to his son, who later shared it with my parents, who eventually shared it with me.
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| Grandpa Irwin (1967) |
Obviously, I don't remember Grandpa Irwin, but I wish I could have known him. Since childhood, this story has had a profound impact on me. I decided many years ago, that if I ever had a son, his middle name would be "Irwin" to honor the man who was willing to pray this sacrificial prayer on my behalf.
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| Mr. Irwin (1987), my parent's friend and neighbor, who told this story about his father to my parents, after Grandpa Irwin's death. |

