Ramblin’ Prose

His name was Eddie Graham Vaughan Jr., but the family always called him Little Eddie to distinguish him from his dad, Eddie Sr. Of course, by the time he became a young man, that nickname was a major misnomer. He was tall, with an imposing physique — you could imagine him crushing a beer keg the way the rest of us crush a beer can. But he was one of sweetest natured boys I ever knew — a true gentle giant. He was my first cousin.

I went to his funeral Thursday, and though I’ve often heard funerals called “a celebration of life,” this is the first time I ever truly felt more joy than sorrow. Don’t get me wrong — we all felt enormous sorrow when we learned that Eddie had died in a motorcycle crash Monday night at the age of 38. It seems the cruelest possible loss, for someone so good and kind to die in such a sudden and violent way.

When we arrived at the funeral home in Henderson on Wednesday night, we were stunned at the number of people already there. And they came, and came. The line wrapped around the building and way behind. When we left at 9:30, the line was just as long. We were all overwhelmed to discover how many lives he touched.

I hadn’t seen much of Eddie since he was a teenager, so I didn’t know him as a father, a husband, and a professional. He was a master officer with the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission, and his territory included Kerr Lake, where we all grew up fishing, swimming and skiing on summer weekends. A third-generation country boy, he loved to hunt, fish, and be outdoors.

In wildlife service, he found his perfect niche in life. One of his training officers who spoke at the funeral described how Eddie, who was supposed to start work on a Monday, showed up the Friday before, bursting with that excitement that was his trademark. He taught hunting and fishing safety, patrolled the lake and investigated boating accidents, often working with the Vance County Sheriff’s Office.

And as we talked to these people and heard their stories about Eddie, it became clear that all the qualities that made him such a great guy as the young man I knew stayed with him his whole life. That inner kindness was reflected in how he treated people. Apparently, even those he had to arrest had a hard time disliking him.

He continued to share that amazing smile with everyone he met, and it never dimmed. Photos at the funeral home showed him with various hunting trophies — a gigantic turkey, deer, bass. Flower arrangements were decorated with birds, miniature rod-and-reel sets, leaping fish. It was clear that he didn’t plod through life, just getting by. It was clear that he really, really lived. And it was inspiring.

I was comforted to know that he lived and worked among such warm, wonderful people at the Wildlife Service. The sense of brotherhood among them was palpable. They filled an entire section of the church, and when we filed out of the church after the ceremony, they were lining the pathway, all standing tall, saluting our family, many with tears running down their faces.

At the graveside, they gave a 21-gun salute, played taps, and performed the flag ceremony with the North Carolina flag that draped his coffin, making every move deliberate and respectful. To me, it seemed that every motion was filled with love. It was one of the most moving and beautiful services I’ve ever witnessed.

There’s nothing you can say that can touch the grief of a parent who’s lost a child. Even the thought of it is more than I can stand. But I told his parents I just felt so proud to have had a man as my cousin who touched so many lives, who was a force for good in this world.

A beautiful soul.