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 know him better. In the few times my eldest met him, he really liked him. Even shy little Thing One sensed a kindred spirit in my Grampa. Even though I knew this day was coming, I still can't wrap my brain around a world without Grampa. He was such a constant, wonderful figure in my life. I'm sure my sisters and cousins would all agree, we couldn't have asked for a more perfect Grandfather than John Herman Hubble.
And in our sadness, through our tears, we can smile. I'll bet he's playing tennis again. Breathing deeply again. Running again. How good it must feel to run after so many years of longing for it?
I mourn for Gramma. Over sixty years together, and now there's an empty spot next to her. Even worse, her mind has trouble grasping it, being ravaged by a disease. I pray that God's peace, the peace that surpasses understanding and the limits of the mind, finds it's way through the disease and comforts her. I mourn for Mom, for Aunt Teri, having lost their precious father. May they also feel that quiet peace.
Lord willing, I have a long life ahead of me. And I will carry Grampa with me. I will think of him whenever my boys come in smelling like the outside. Whenever I see an old car, or hear the swish of a basketball net. Whenever I sing "In the Garden". I'll laugh at the jokes he told, tell my children of his dry humor and practical jokes, and even more so of his faith in His Savior, Who I'm sure is telling him at this very moment "Well done".
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 know him better. In the few times my eldest met him, he really liked him. Even shy little Thing One sensed a kindred spirit in my Grampa. Even though I knew this day was coming, I still can't wrap my brain around a world without Grampa. He was such a constant, wonderful figure in my life. I'm sure my sisters and cousins would all agree, we couldn't have asked for a more perfect Grandfather than John Herman Hubble.
And in our sadness, through our tears, we can smile. I'll bet he's playing tennis again. Breathing deeply again. Running again. How good it must feel to run after so many years of longing for it?
I mourn for Gramma. Over sixty years together, and now there's an empty spot next to her. Even worse, her mind has trouble grasping it, being ravaged by a disease. I pray that God's peace, the peace that surpasses understanding and the limits of the mind, finds it's way through the disease and comforts her. I mourn for Mom, for Aunt Teri, having lost their precious father. May they also feel that quiet peace.
Lord willing, I have a long life ahead of me. And I will carry Grampa with me. I will think of him whenever my boys come in smelling like the outside. Whenever I see an old car, or hear the swish of a basketball net. Whenever I sing "In the Garden". I'll laugh at the jokes he told, tell my children of his dry humor and practical jokes, and even more so of his faith in His Savior, Who I'm sure is telling him at this very moment "Well done".
Comments
This hit so close to home... I lost my sweet Grandpa several years ago and, as you said, we knew it was coming but that just did not make it any easier. He's not here anymore. It's just... strange! But he's with Jesus -- how cool is THAT?! :) I know that song "I Can Only Imagine" is WAY over-played but it does make you think... what's Grandpa doing right now? :)
That was a beautiful tribute, Kathy. So sweet and heart-felt. It made me cry.