The Death of My Grandfather

My grandfather died on Wednesday. Grandpa Lloyd. This was really the first death I have had to face in my adult life; the first death where I was not only grieving, by also caught up in watching my family's reaction to death. I haven't seen a lot of death in my 25 years on this earth. Until now, I can only remember attending 4 or 5 funerals, and none of them were people I was particularly close to. It's interesting how death affects everyone in different ways.  I myself found comfort knowing that Grandpa was no longer suffering; the past few times I had seen him, he was very pale, and seemed like he was daydreaming; maybe of heaven, who knows? I just knew that the grandpa I knew was slowly leaving, and that I needed to say my goodbyes. The night before he passed, I went by to see him in the hospice house. He was frail and weak, but still had his goofy personality. He asked about Henry and Elliot and speculated that Henry was going to be a football player when he grew up and that Elliot would play basketball. I knew then that he was saying his goodbyes and was trying to make sure to let everyone know how much he loved them. He didn't stay awake for long; he started getting tired and I told him to get some good sleep and gave him a big kiss on the mouth. He had always given us big, sloppy kisses on the mouth and I remember being grossed out by that as a kid ( I would always have to wipe the spit off with my hand afterward) But I knew that was probably going to be our last kiss, so I wanted to make it count. It was. And it did.

When we were passing his room to make the trek to the door to leave, we saw him talking with his eyes closed. At first I thought that it was just talking in his sleep, but then I realized that he was probably praying, as he did every night. He was faithful to his God until the end, as his God was faithful to him. He allowed my grandpa a peaceful passing, surrounded by loved ones. It is hard to express how sorrow and peace can so integrally co-exist, but today they did. That is the beauty of our hope in Christ; it surpasses all human understanding. The sadness is there. The hope is there. Ideally a lesson about the brevity of life has been learned by all and we will tell our spouses we love them just one more time in a day, and hug our babies a little longer before bed. It's easy to forget we are all headed that way, and our bodies won't last us too terribly long on this earth. It's easy to forget just how blessed we are to wake up and still have our loved ones surrounding us, alive and well. I watched my grandmother a lot today. After 63 years, she still wasn't any closer to being ready to let her sweetheart go than she was on the first day they met. In fact, it was probably harder, considering all they have been through together. I used to think that, as Christians, we didn't have to mourn at funerals; mourning was discouraged because we knew that death wasn't really the end. What I realized today is that mourning is just a natural human response; we can't keep that from happening. But the hope that Christ gives us is the fact that grief and hope can and very much do co-exist.

For his anger is but for a moment;
    his favour is for a lifetime.
Weeping may linger for the night,
    but joy comes with the morning.

Psalm 30:5

 I think grandpa would have been humbled to see that his simple faith touched so many lives, and that should serve as a reminder to us that our work here isn't quite done, and we have the honor of carrying on his legacy.

Love you grandpa, (a bushel and a peck)

Tavi