Joe

Thursday, June ninth, Joseph Ballew was in an accident and passed away that night.
He had a beautiful funeral on Tuesday, with friends and family sharing favorite stories and pictures.
My Dad met Joe when he was eighteen and Joe was fifteen at their church youth group. Joe's Uncle was the youth group leader for a while.
Dad and Joe became great friends and when my Dad moved down to Texas (From Michigan) and was asked by his Boss if he knew anyone he could train as a new printing machine manager (I'm not sure what the official title of the job was) he suggested Joe, and Joe moved down here to take the job.
They stayed in touch on and off and a couple years later after my Dad had become a Dad of five Mr. Joe (That's what us kids call him) moved into one of our spare bedrooms and lived with us for, I think six years.
He taught Abi how to assemble a Glock in the dark and bought and taught my Mom how to handle and shoot a small gun. Mom was afraid that if she shot the gun at someone the bullets would go through a wall and might get one of her kids, so as an added precaution he got.. the bullets that don't go through things...(sorry)
Then my mom asked. "But Joe, what if you come in and I don't know its you?" His reply was "Becky, then my last words would be 'Good shot"
He always told her. "Once in the head, twice in the chest."
He was kind of a scary looking guy back then. He always wore black, rode a motorcycle, almost always had a gun with him, and was a really big bald guy. But if anyone ever asked suspiciously about him and leaving us with him, Mom's reply would be. "Joe, would sacrifice his life for any one of my kids" and it was true. 
He was so careful with us kids. We have a bunch of stories of him letting us do stuff that we thought were the coolest craziest things, but now that we look back, he was completely in control and everything was really safe. Which is p[probably why he was so cool to us. We were having so much fun, and we (And Mom and Dad) never were afraid when he was in charge that we would fall or get hurt, and we never did. He was the same way with his son Caleb, and if possible, even more so.
My nickname was Spike because as a KID I had a really bad cowlick. He would always sing the Georgia Ray song to Mercy as Mercy Rae. (Okay! baby what I say!) He would talk to us not as if we were kids, but as if he was a kid too. He would get down on his hands and knees and become our equal. A much more sensible equal, but still.
He moved out and got married to a woman with a son from a previous marriage and just recently they got divorced and Mr. Joe won primary custody of Caleb. We were watching Caleb, five days a week from eight until six, while Mr. Joe was at work. When he would drop Caleb off he would give us his breakfast, a neat bag of cheerios and a banana, kiss Caleb on the head and give him a hug, thank us, and leave for the day.
When he came to pick Caleb up, Caleb would be so excited. He would smile like crazy, and run to meet him. Mr. Joe would sneak up and surprise him. Then we would tell him how the day went, pack up all his stuff, and he would make Caleb thank us, thank us himself and say goodbye until tomorrow.
Just recently Mr. Joe's job had started earlier so he was dropping Caleb off at six thirty in the morning. The last time I ever saw Mr. Joe was at six thirty in the morning, a week before his death. I had been appointed to greet Caleb but had fallen asleep on the couch and only woke up when they came in. I was really groggy and got a box of playmobile knights for Caleb to play with. Mr. Joe kissed his son goodbye and said "Thank you Libi" I think I mumbled "No Problem" or something. I went back to bed sick so I didn't see them Friday and Caleb doesn't come on the weekends. Monday I left for a week trip so South Dakota where me and Mom spent Thursday night off and on the phone trying to figure out what was going on.
The day of the funeral I sat and listened to hilarious tear spattered stories from Dad and Joe's siblings. We were going to have them and Caleb and his Mom over on Thursday but Caleb was having nightmares so they went home, and the family wanted to hang out together.
At Mr. Joe's house, next to Caleb's bed there was a small night stand. When Pastor Niell went over there to help get Caleb's clothes and toys, he saw that on the nightstand there was a Bible and a Cantus.
While Mom and Dad were talking to Pastor Niell about their earliest memories of Mr. Joe, I noticed that they both mentioned and stressed that whenever they saw him, at youth group or church he Always had his Bible. We have a picture of my Dad holding baby Abigail in a frilly dress, Mom, with her tiny waist, and Joe, with a mullet, and his Bible.
I know that this is a confusing jumble of memories and stories, but I wanted to share it. Cause.