“beautiful Grace”

Before reading: THIS blog post is the one I would like to be perfect, the one I’ve been working on for a few months and really question posting. Questioned posting because death is a sensitive thing, because I don’t feel qualified to write about the lives of my grandfathers, because I feel like it could be better. However, perfection cannot be the goal because if it was I would keep this to myself forever. As I post this, my goal is not perfection but to encourage you and maybe remind you of what good things hardship has brought you. So here it is:

What loss at a young age taught me.

I remember the last time I saw my Grandpa. He and the rest of the family were at our house for dinner. He laughed as he told the story of how his heart monitor had run out of batteries and started beeping during a meeting, and how everyone was worried except him. I remember him coming home from the hospital after multiple surgeries and we were excited because he got to lay in his hammock and he never liked the hospital. I remember a really odd friday night and Saturday. I remember breaking down when that Saturday night we were told that Grandpa wasn’t with us anymore.

I remember choking back tears at the cemetary and choking back more tears at the funeral. I remember asking God a lot of questions.

Heavy stuff, I know. But it is something I’ve never really written about. Only recently have I thought about what all this means to me now.

I was ten when Grandpa passed away. I was twelve the December my Poppa developed pnemonia. I remember family members flying in. I remember getting home from school and being told we were going to drive to the farm to say goodbye. That was the hardest car ride of my life. It was the hardest goodbye of my life.

I remember the funeral, my little cousin Molly sitting on my lap and though my legs began to hurt so bad, it was a welcome distraction. I remember my aunt talking about how she wasn’t ready for him to die, and sure as hell wasn’t ready for them to take his body away.

I had never thought of that before, the pain just from the physical absence of someone. To me, the body was just temporary, Poppa was confined to it here, as was Grandpa, but they left it behind for a much better one in heaven.

Although death has taken two people I really love away from me, I have never been afraid of it. Even as a ten year old, if death was a person I’d have laughed in its face because I’ve been told and believed my whole life that death doesn’t get to win.

I have come to know that the reality of grief is that it does not end. On this side of heaven missing people lost to death is ongoing and painful. You never really stop missing them.

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For some reason this new house, this new season of change, has caused me to think about the other biggest seasons of change in my life, the deaths of my grandfathers.

While grief still hurts and is still present, I’m learning there are a million things to be thankful for, even in death.

First and foremost I am thankful that death is really the beginning. The beginning of a shining and glorious eternity. The start of really living because it is living with Christ Jesus in heaven. Ever since Jesus rose from the grave hundreds of years ago, death doesn’t have the final word.

I am thankful that God knows. I am thankful he has numbered our days perfectly. Even though I so often feel robbed of time with Poppa and Grandpa, I know that God took them up to be with him at the time he saw best.

I am thankful God’s heart breaks too. He does not just sit up in heaven throwing parties while we suffer down here. He knows it hurts and He is ready, willing, and able to meet us in our grief and help us make sense of loss. Even Jesus wept.

I am thankful for what losing my grandfathers has done for my family. It has brought us closer. I have a new love and appreciation for the stories, for the memories, for family gatherings. The parkinson’s disease that infected Poppa gave our large group a good excuse to drop everything for family vacations and events. Those are memories I would not trade for the world.

I am thankful for how death and grief have become a part of my story. I’m thankful for how it has strengthened my faith. I’m thankful for the ability to listen to others and deeply understand their loss.

I am thankful for how death and grief shape faith. It has shaped my faith by making me ask hard questions and really dig deep into what I believe. I’m thankful for how it has shaped other’s faith. Death knocks you off your feet and makes you realize how fragile life is. Suddenly promotions, grades, money, etc. become a whole lot less important.

My dad came home from visiting Poppa when he was near the end of his earthly life one day, and told us Poppa had been talking about seeing angels. That blew my mind. I probably smiled. The heavenly realm is real folks and in that moment I was so thankful that Poppa was so close to eternity, to healing, and to God.

I am thankful for an answer to prayer. It is difficult to look at it this way, but when death is the gateway to heaven it is also the answer to our prayers for healing. We prayed my Grandpa’s heart would recover, and while the grown ups maybe didn’t pray for parkinsons to go away, I (not fully understanding it) sure as heck did (and maybe that’s what God meant when He said have faith like a child). Well, I can sit here now and tell you neither of them have a failing part of their body. Heck they are likely in better shape than I am. There is great healing in heaven. Healing of every part of the mind, body, and soul. Far greater healing than we dare hope exists.

My Grandpa and my Poppa were great, great men. The older I get the more I come to realize how few and far between such great men are. And this is what I have come to realize of late, so much of who I am is because of my grandfathers.

I do not believe heaven is as far away as people seem to think it is. I fully believe Poppa and Grandpa see us and cheer for us and smile down on us.

My favorite thing about our new home is that my Grandpa helped build it (I’d like to think he somehow knew we’d end up here) and I will forever be a Red Sox and Army fan for Poppa.

Some of Poppa’s last words to me were “I love you beautiful Grace” and I’m thankful I can carry those words with me for the rest of my life.

I got ten short years with Grandpa, and twelve short years with Poppa. But I also get an eternity with them. One day, when God says it’s time, I will get to run up and hug them both. That fact is stronger than grief.

I just want you to know that God loves us too much to let death be the end of the story, and heaven is closer than you think.

“His master replied, “Well done, good and faithful servant!”

Matthew 25:23a