My Grandpa

My grandpa died this morning at the age of 88. He and my grandma enjoyed over 60 years of marriage and realtively good health together except for the last couple of years. And even then, they were able to live on their own comfortably. This is my first personal experience with death. I think it helped that I knew deep down it would be coming soon, but I am still so sad. I can't even figure out why I am sad, since I know my grandpa lived a wonderful life, died peacefully, is free from pain and enjoying paradise, and that I can even see him again one day. When I think of it like that, it doesn't make any sense to be sad. I guess I am sad because I ache for my grandma and the incredible grief of seperation she must be feeling. I ache for the finality of all the things we enjoyed together here on earth being completely over. I can't update him with the new activities and accomplishments of his great-grandchildren anymore. I can't hear him lead the prayer before dinner anymore.

My sweet kids go on with the day without any knowledge that they lost something special this morning. A great-grandfather they will never know on earth. They will ask me about him one day with curiosity, but without any sorrow or love. He's just an ancient figure of the past that has no emotional tie to their life. I know this because it's the same way I've asked about all my great-grandparents. It makes me sad that they will not know personally the depth of his character.

He was a hard working, honest man. I never saw him lose his temper. I never saw him disrespect anyone. He was loved by all his family and looked up to as a person to emulate. He served his country in war, he served the church, and he served me personally with his care and attention. I honestly believe not one person would have a single bad thing to say about him.
He was a pillar of integrity.

I've been filled with memories today of times I shared with my grandpa. Some seemed so small and insignificant at the time, and others more deep of course. Things I hadn't thought of in years suddenly swept through my mind like a river. He used to drive me to and from kindergarten every day in his old white pick up truck while I sang my heart out. I sang during every single trip to school. I wonder what he thought about that. He taught me how to spray the water on the plants by placing my thumb over the garden hose. I still do that today. He took me on walks to the "old Indian caves" in a far corner of their sprawling farm/brushland which were really just some big rocks and crevices magnified by my imagination. We fished, tended the cows, burned the trash, picked all kinds of home grown fruits and vegetables (how I loved eating fresh watermelon in the summer), killed snakes, went to church, sat on the front porch swing, and the list goes on and on. He was a rockhound and made jewelry from all sorts of gems and stones. One summer he let me design and make a ring with his help. A lovely oval-shaped fire opal in a silver setting.

I am thankful for the influence he had on my life. Even though my children will not personally know him, they will know the part of him that impressed upon my life and continues to show in the person I am today.