Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of one of His saints. Psalms 116:15
The gathering began early that morning. I knew it would be a long day with the visitation and funeral back-to-back, so I packed accordingly. My cousins told me, as they watched my husband haul in bag after bag, “There is no way you will use all of that.” I smiled, knowing how much of it was going to come in handy through the course of the day. We all laughed, looking for reasons to smile. Not that it was hard, a life well-lived is easy to remember and talk about. Yet, no one is ever ready for goodbye.
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Book Five in the Home Sweet Home series – Stay Tuned!
So much of Grandpa’s life was on display. Items I took for granted growing up. Railroad equipment and old caps he wore every day; his suspenders and fedora, and his cane leaning up against the end table. Tears ran down my cheeks as I saw his Bibles stacked there. I recognized the one he read the Christmas Story out of each year at Christmastime. I saw pictures that told of his life.
My Uncle Phil hugged me as we signed the guest book. Neither of us spoke. “I feel the same way,” He finally managed to say. Both of us were fighting back tears. He continued, “They were married sixty-nine years. Who gets a gift like that?” I found the words and replied, “I think that’s what makes it so hard to let go. I see his life stamped on all of us, and we have to say goodbye.”
My father, officiating the funeral, walked up to give me a hug in his dress jeans and boots. He wore a new black vest over his white button-down shirt and tie. I could see the gold chain hanging from the fob pocket on his vest. Dad revealed the railroad watch. It had been the envy of him and his siblings. The friendly humor had always been; who would be the proud recipient? Dad choked back tears as he held it out and told me, “He asked me to wear it at his funeral. I promised him I would.”
Coming from a musically inclined family, of which I did not inherit, I sat on the second pew with my family and listened as old familiar hymns were sung. Tears streamed down my face as I listened and watched my extended family and friends carry the notes of “The Old Rugged Cross” when others could not.
Before my grandpa went home to be with the Lord, we all had many moments to share. “We are coming to the end of the journey, Son.” Dad looked up and told him, “That’s ok, Daddy. You left a trail a blind man can follow.” Sitting beside grandpa, I gave him my word that I would take care of my kids as he told me to. “I won’t let them down, Grandpa. I will look after them well. I promise.” I watched a tear slide down his cheek. I kissed him and told him how much I loved him.
Grandma had asked if I would write one last story for the family. It was my honor to recount a lifetime of memories with the grandchildren. Historical events happen all around us, but none can compare to standing on the same platform as my father and speaking about a man who shaped our family. It will never make the history books, yet it is the heritage that shaped who I am.
Grandma and I shared several phone calls the last week before Grandpa died. Some were tearful, some joyful. I started feeling sad because I could not be there as much as I wanted. Nobody tells you about the impossibilities of two places at once, even though you wish it were possible. Those entrusted to your care become top priority. Grandma calmed my thoughts, “Don’t worry about the things you can’t do. Enjoy what God has given you. The time you have with your kids at home goes so fast. Cherish every moment.” I asked her how the day had gone for her and Grandpa. Grandpa had been alert and clear. She was able to talk to him, and he even responded during their conversations. Her response was genuine, “Today has been marvelous.”
As my father prayed the closing prayer at the funeral, he said, “Lord, because of you, my life is complete, but because of him, my life is full.” Grandma and Grandpa have left a lasting mark on anyone who has met them—especially their children.
I sat down with my Uncle Ronnie before the funeral was over. He looked at me, “When the matriarchs are gone, it is up to the next generation to carry the gathering. If they fail, it will get lost in the separation. Don’t fail the gathering.”
After the funeral ended and the last of the potluck was cleared, the sanctuary was restored to its original state, and everyone had gone home, we made our way to Grandma’s house. It has been Grandpa and Grandma’s to me for forty-one years. Now, I was going to Grandma’s.
I have heard it said that it’s impossible to understand someone without first visiting their home. Home reveals character. Although my grandpa got a change of address, the essence of who he was remains in their home.
When I walked inside, Grandma had wrapped the small juice glasses I had envied for years. She had them ready for me to take home. “These glasses need to be used,” she said. Take them home and let your kids enjoy them. They will be grown before you know it.”
I have watched consistency play out in the lives of my grandparents, even down to where the juice glasses sat in the cabinet. Now, the juice glasses have a new home, sitting in my cabinets. We use them every morning for breakfast.
Life has found us adjusting to a different rhythm. Grandma reminisces often, and we all make time to listen.
I was asked how I was dealing with the death of my grandpa. I replied, “It is a loss, but it’s not empty.” My father was right. He made our lives full. May I be found continually serving and loving as my grandparents did. Let the gathering continue within my home and family.
Therefore, receive one another just as Christ also received us, to the glory of God. Romans 15:7
