The best remedy to love is to love more – Tribute to my Grandpa

December 26, 2016

I’ve never lost someone I’ve been so close to. I guess I’ve never really been so close to someone. Someone like this. Someone so safe, kind, understanding, loving, nonjudgemental, giving, prayerful, stable, secure. Someone I can share with and just receive a fountain of wisdom or just a listening ear if I needed. Someone so calm, nurturing and attentive. 

I did not think it would be this hard, this emotional. So I write to help the pain of separation. 
Losing you changed everything for me. Losing you made me wake up. Because it hurt so bad. Losing you helped me realize this isn’t home. 
I guess we usually chose to change when the pain of things staying the same is greater than the pain of actually going through the process of change. 
So the tears flow. Like a faucet. Remembering all you were, all you are and the legacy you’ve made. Of faith and family. 
The tears flow knowing I’m going to visit a body. But not one that can wrap me up and not one I can hang on and kiss and sit on your knee. One that’s in the ground. One that I had to bury five years ago. 
The nausea came rushing back. The knot in my throat began to grow as I remembered the pain of your funeral. And burial. And the deep hole of missing you everyday. How the process of letting you go is still so hard. To transition to this reality that you’re not a phone call away. 
Why did the pain come back? I was managing so well day to day. Distracted somehow learning to live without you. 
I guess when we get out of our comfort zone of the day to day duties, the usual routines, we are able to disconnect and reconnect. Reconnect with what really matters. Like a day trip to the beach. Or a morning to sleep in. I guess this is what God means when he tells us to Be Still. We position ourselves to be so vulnerable and available. 
Available. Like you were for me. Never never ever too busy for me. My jokes. Games with me. My dreams. My thoughts. So selfless. My spiritual life. Patient. Teaching me with a soft tone how to and what to. 
Never expecting or desiring anything from me. But love. Or a handmade card. Or time with me. Or your favorite. A big hug and kiss for Grandpa! 
Nothing and no one ever more important than me. Giving me a confidence and security unshakeable. A Grandfathers love. 
An environment to grow, flourish and become in. 
Always grateful and thankful. For the little things. For a call. For a visit. For a stop by or a long visit. 
The butterflies increased. Remembering the grace the kindness the forgiveness you offered to me. Over. And over. And over again. How silly I was to think I could hide my sins from you. My faults. My flaws. My addictions. 
How silly to think my imperfections would make you love me less. 
But you. So Christ like. So pursuant. So full of unconditional love. Because of Him living in you. 
I let you down. You love me back. 
I let you down again. You love me back more. 

Almost as if it were impossible to let you down because of how much you believed in me. 

Amazing grace. You had it. You taught it. You lived it. 

Traveling the same country roads five years ago. With the beautiful trees with different color leaves. As if my heart knew and could replay all of it. The tears flow. As if it were ok to still grieve the loss of you. The closer we get the more they flow. As if I could feel you. And you could feel me. 
When Suddenly on the radio like your giant arms wrapping around me comes your favorite song. The song we loved to sing together. The song we played at your funeral. And then two hours of tears turns to deep sobbing. 
“Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. 

That saved a wretch like me. 

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow

The sun forbear to shine

But God, Who called me here below,

Will be forever mine.

Will be forever mine.

You are forever mine.”

It’s hard to believe five years have gone by. I’m not the woman I desire to fully be. But I’m not the woman I once was. And for that I can thank God. I can thank you. 
I hate I had to lose someone so important to me. So critical to my functioning well. So necessary to all aspects of my life – emotional, physical, spiritual, financial. But I guess that’s how some of us learn. Loss. Pain. Unfortunately. Hard heads. Ah! 
Lord I pray for a soft head and hard. Humility. 
It’s so hard to wrap my mind around the reality that ill have to possibly live in this physical world another could be fifty years without you. Just going on with this hole you left. A hole that’s full of chivalry, serving others, giving to the orphan and the poor, Southern accents and examples. Like humility – not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less, opening the door for others, holding the door, giving a dollar to a crying child, and just putting aside self to be there for others. 
I long to feel your scruffy beard, your giant soft hand, your boney shoulder as such a safe place for my head. 
Because of Jesus I get to see you again. Because God sent Jesus we get to be together in Heaven. One sweet day. 
The pain doesn’t go away. It doesn’t get better. I just learn every day how to live without you. Trusting now in the one you trusted in. Believing in the hope that I’ll see you again. You’re waiting for me. And you’re with me now. 
My friend. My advisor. My spiritual mentor. My grandpa. My hero. My anything I ever needed you would provide. My everything. 
I’m here. 

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