Finally Free
He's home now. He's young again. He's no longer hurting, or laboring to breathe. He is at peace. He's with his Savior. But we are here, still tethered to our earthly bodies and the sorrow that comes with them. We miss him. We can't help but cry in our sadness. I've been thinking of my Grampa a lot lately, knowing this day was not far off. Memories of him keep flooding back, swirling around in my head in fragments, trying to make a complete thought. The sound of a basketball hitting blacktop. The smell of grass and sweat. The promise of another chocolate popsicle if I do another trick, sing another song for the video camera. The game of trying to slap his hand before his fingers could catch mine. Seeing him sitting in his chair, munching on cashews and cracking jokes with Gramma. I only knew my Grampa for 25 of his 86 years. I can't help but feel cheated. Like I should have had longer with him. In selfishness, I wish he could have been here for my children to...