Loved Ones
He doesn't worship him. He just loved him. And now he misses him. Twenty-seven plus years and he's still so close to my Daddy's heart, sometimes Dad tears up when he mentions him. My Grandpa, a man I never got to meet.
"I wish you could have known him," Dad'll say, his mouth quirking at the corners a little, eyes getting a bit red. My Dad, the strong, the affectionate, the hard-working, showing emotion at the memory and the missing of a man I never knew, a man who impacted his life in more ways than I'll ever understand.
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Interesting how someone can be here one moment and unattainably gone the next. This truth has struck me so strongly with the passing of both my maternal grandparents within 10 months.
Meemaw (that's what we called my grandmother) was so full of life, so animated, so not old, even after 85 years of life. She was the primary caregiver to my grandfather, (Peepaw), her husband of over 65 years. I thought of her as the strong one of the two of them. She washed clothes, fixed meals, got Peepaw up in the mornings, did the shopping, drove them to church. She had a passion for the Bible, the things of the Lord, and for seeing people come to know Jesus Christ as their Savior. She was a tech-y: she learned the computer in her 50's or 60's, got a cellphone, a kindle, an ipad. And then, just before we celebrated my grandfather's 90th birthday, just before all the family came in and all the celebration commenced, Meemaw started feeling bad. She wasn't one to run to the doctor for "just anything," but finally she went.
I remember standing in the dining room hearing the report like it was moments ago: "Meemaw has cancer."
No, not Meemaw. Surely not. And then with the next breath, as my brain reeled with the news, my head started pounding, Will everyone I love get cancer? It wasn't a new thought. Mother's eldest brother had, then her eldest sister was diagnosed with it. Thankfully, Mother's sister was surviving, but now Meemaw... I was in shock.
When the day of Peepaw's party arrived, Meemaw was still in the hospital. Peepaw had rarely been without his life-companion, his bride. He didn't talk much, but while she was away, he said quietly one afternoon, "I miss Mama." (His name for Meemaw ever since they had had children.)
It went so fast. She was diagnosed in mid-March and gone by July 1. I was in denial practically throughout it all. Everyone else would tear up or cry occasionally. There will be plenty of time for that after she's gone, I would think. I won't cry now, I'll just live this moment while she's here.
But then she was gone and all the family left and the house got quiet and there was no Meemaw sitting in the overstuffed orange recliner. No Meemaw to hear scuff-scuffing through the house, hurrying on her way to put on lunch or a load of wash. And I couldn't cry. I tried. I wished and longed to cry, but no tears came. I had numbed myself for so long that nothing would happen when I had the opportunity, when things were right, when no family was around to see me red-faced and blurry-eyed.
We plugged along, finding "a new normal". Fall came and I enrolled in college again. Mother stayed with Peepaw, working hard caring for him; Daddy and Kyrie were at their jobs, working hard in their respective fields. We fell into something of a routine. Breakfast with it's pertenences, lunchtime, naptime, various medical and home-aid workers rotating in and out in the mornings and afternoons, supper time, time in the evenings to sit as a fivesome where we had been a sixsome.
I grew to love my grandpa more in the months that followed my grandmother's passing than I probably ever had. I'd hold his hand at mealtime prayers, I'd scoot his food around on his plate closer to him, I'd give him his vitamins and pills, I'd help him into his wheelchair, I'd comb his hair, I'd work on his supper, I'd take off his veteran's braces at night, I'd warm the heating bags for his cold feet, I'd kiss his wrinkled forehead, push his covers up around his chin, and tell him I loved him. That I will never regret: that I realized that I should tell him that I loved him, and I began to tell him more often.
And then, one day I came in from school and my Mother said something was not right, that Peepaw seemed to have had a stroke. And in half a month, with him getting better, (I thought), and then worse, he had left us, too.
I let myself cry as I saw his decline. I didn't want a repeat of what I had done, my impassiveness, with my precious grandmother. I missed him, even as he was still with us, and I let myself cry. The day he passed away, his favorite day of the week: Sunday, just hours before he left us, I leaned my head toward his resting there on his pillow. He was at his own house; they had issued the bed for convenience of care. I hugged his wooly head and cried. I was quiet; he couldn't hear me, but I'm sure he felt my shaking. How can I let you go? my thoughts sobbed. But I would have been selfish to keep him. What a fight he had fought for the Lord! What an example he had been to his friends, his neighbors, his cousins, his siblings, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren! What a testimony for righteousness, what a faithful man to follow! How can we go on without you? How can we let you go? But I was wrong. The same Lord that led him when he was orphaned at 13 years of age, the same God Who had protected him as a 19 year old in the foxholes and hedgerows of countries at war with one another, the same God Who had lead him to Bible college where he met Meemaw, Who had given him seven beautiful children, Who had taken a small-town, country boy to the capital city of Brazil and made him His missionary, a pastor and preacher for Jesus Christ, He Who had never--not once!--failed my precious grandparents was the God Who was vastly able and Who is vastly able to help us and carry us on.
And so, we hold on to the memories of those we loved who have passed from this life--and we press on, that we might be faithful followers of our Lord Jesus Christ Who has loved us and forgiven us of our sins as He did for them.
"I wish you could have known him," Dad'll say, his mouth quirking at the corners a little, eyes getting a bit red. My Dad, the strong, the affectionate, the hard-working, showing emotion at the memory and the missing of a man I never knew, a man who impacted his life in more ways than I'll ever understand.
--------
Interesting how someone can be here one moment and unattainably gone the next. This truth has struck me so strongly with the passing of both my maternal grandparents within 10 months.
Meemaw (that's what we called my grandmother) was so full of life, so animated, so not old, even after 85 years of life. She was the primary caregiver to my grandfather, (Peepaw), her husband of over 65 years. I thought of her as the strong one of the two of them. She washed clothes, fixed meals, got Peepaw up in the mornings, did the shopping, drove them to church. She had a passion for the Bible, the things of the Lord, and for seeing people come to know Jesus Christ as their Savior. She was a tech-y: she learned the computer in her 50's or 60's, got a cellphone, a kindle, an ipad. And then, just before we celebrated my grandfather's 90th birthday, just before all the family came in and all the celebration commenced, Meemaw started feeling bad. She wasn't one to run to the doctor for "just anything," but finally she went.
I remember standing in the dining room hearing the report like it was moments ago: "Meemaw has cancer."
No, not Meemaw. Surely not. And then with the next breath, as my brain reeled with the news, my head started pounding, Will everyone I love get cancer? It wasn't a new thought. Mother's eldest brother had, then her eldest sister was diagnosed with it. Thankfully, Mother's sister was surviving, but now Meemaw... I was in shock.
When the day of Peepaw's party arrived, Meemaw was still in the hospital. Peepaw had rarely been without his life-companion, his bride. He didn't talk much, but while she was away, he said quietly one afternoon, "I miss Mama." (His name for Meemaw ever since they had had children.)
It went so fast. She was diagnosed in mid-March and gone by July 1. I was in denial practically throughout it all. Everyone else would tear up or cry occasionally. There will be plenty of time for that after she's gone, I would think. I won't cry now, I'll just live this moment while she's here.
But then she was gone and all the family left and the house got quiet and there was no Meemaw sitting in the overstuffed orange recliner. No Meemaw to hear scuff-scuffing through the house, hurrying on her way to put on lunch or a load of wash. And I couldn't cry. I tried. I wished and longed to cry, but no tears came. I had numbed myself for so long that nothing would happen when I had the opportunity, when things were right, when no family was around to see me red-faced and blurry-eyed.
We plugged along, finding "a new normal". Fall came and I enrolled in college again. Mother stayed with Peepaw, working hard caring for him; Daddy and Kyrie were at their jobs, working hard in their respective fields. We fell into something of a routine. Breakfast with it's pertenences, lunchtime, naptime, various medical and home-aid workers rotating in and out in the mornings and afternoons, supper time, time in the evenings to sit as a fivesome where we had been a sixsome.
I grew to love my grandpa more in the months that followed my grandmother's passing than I probably ever had. I'd hold his hand at mealtime prayers, I'd scoot his food around on his plate closer to him, I'd give him his vitamins and pills, I'd help him into his wheelchair, I'd comb his hair, I'd work on his supper, I'd take off his veteran's braces at night, I'd warm the heating bags for his cold feet, I'd kiss his wrinkled forehead, push his covers up around his chin, and tell him I loved him. That I will never regret: that I realized that I should tell him that I loved him, and I began to tell him more often.
And then, one day I came in from school and my Mother said something was not right, that Peepaw seemed to have had a stroke. And in half a month, with him getting better, (I thought), and then worse, he had left us, too.
I let myself cry as I saw his decline. I didn't want a repeat of what I had done, my impassiveness, with my precious grandmother. I missed him, even as he was still with us, and I let myself cry. The day he passed away, his favorite day of the week: Sunday, just hours before he left us, I leaned my head toward his resting there on his pillow. He was at his own house; they had issued the bed for convenience of care. I hugged his wooly head and cried. I was quiet; he couldn't hear me, but I'm sure he felt my shaking. How can I let you go? my thoughts sobbed. But I would have been selfish to keep him. What a fight he had fought for the Lord! What an example he had been to his friends, his neighbors, his cousins, his siblings, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren! What a testimony for righteousness, what a faithful man to follow! How can we go on without you? How can we let you go? But I was wrong. The same Lord that led him when he was orphaned at 13 years of age, the same God Who had protected him as a 19 year old in the foxholes and hedgerows of countries at war with one another, the same God Who had lead him to Bible college where he met Meemaw, Who had given him seven beautiful children, Who had taken a small-town, country boy to the capital city of Brazil and made him His missionary, a pastor and preacher for Jesus Christ, He Who had never--not once!--failed my precious grandparents was the God Who was vastly able and Who is vastly able to help us and carry us on.
And so, we hold on to the memories of those we loved who have passed from this life--and we press on, that we might be faithful followers of our Lord Jesus Christ Who has loved us and forgiven us of our sins as He did for them.
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