A year ago today, on January 5, 2020, my grandmother passed away quietly due to complications from Alzheimer's. The year was unkind and also took my grandfather on the 26th of December. He didn't want to continue living without her, and God granted him that wish.
As I did with my grandmother (mentioned here), I mustered the courage to speak at his funeral. I'm not an eloquent speaker, and I find it horrifying to stand in front of people, but it was the best way I knew how to honor him. In the vein of stretching comfort zones (hence the blog name), sacrificing my comfort level for someone I cared so deeply for felt like the right thing to do.
My family spent the week after he passed going through the house, the children deciding what should be kept vs donated, and realizing my grandparents kept everything. In the moment, it was overwhelming and harried, but it was necessary as not everyone lives locally. The last time I pulled away from their home, I knew I was leaving behind a part of myself. When I pictured my grandparents, it was here. I knew what the living room, kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms, office, etc all looked like. I knew where they sat watching TV or at the table. I had memories in every single room, and the idea of never seeing that home again meant I was walking away from the last vestiges of my childhood. My constants were both gone. How could that be? I wouldn't selfishly wish them back to live in discomfort and illness, but I'd love one final conversation. I'd ask them...well...just ALL THE THINGS. I'd beg them to tell me stories, ask advice, and tell them how much I love them and appreciate them being such steady, consistent, stable people during my life. But no, I wouldn't ask them to stay. I love them too much.
I'm sharing what I said that day at his quiet, private funeral in the midst of a pandemic. Where my family parted ways at the end in a way that broke my heart. I grew up gathering after funerals, everyone talking and reminiscing. But 2020 slipped away on the last day in a final blow by taking him from us during a time where that couldn't be.
Papaw. Funeral, December 31, 2020
It’s stating the obvious to say 2020 has been a challenging year of loss for many people, and our family feels that sharply. We said goodbye to my grandmother in January, and I stood in this same spot trying to honor her in the only way I knew how—sharing my love for her. I’m an awkward introvert who would rather sit and listen than speak in front of people…so doing this is the best way I know to show how much my grandparents mean to me.
I didn’t grow up being close with my grandfather like I did my Memaw. But we grew close later in life, and I’ve spent the years of my adulthood getting to know him. He wasn’t one who enjoyed talking on the phone…but I called anyway. In the beginning he would pass me to my grandmother as soon as he could. Over time, and because it grew harder for her to carry on a conversation, I found ways to bond with him. We talked about Memaw, my own family…and books. I sent books from his favorite authors and mine and some from my own clients for him to read so we could talk about them, and I will always treasure those moments. I’ve never regretted pushing through my own phone awkwardness because I have the memory of hearing him tell me he loved me so many times.
Growing up, I remember he would come home dirty and sweaty from his job as an ironworker or from working outdoors, which he loved to do. He would shower and join us downstairs smelling like a commercial for men’s cologne and aftershave. He knew how to work hard and he took care of my grandmother for 65 years right up until the moment she passed. The onset of Covid at the same time he was grieving the loss of his best friend created a perfect storm of loneliness and isolation as he couldn’t go back out into the world and learn to live again. But even had that not been the case, I’m not sure he would have done anything like that. He told many of us repeatedly that all he wanted was to be with her again.
We’ve all heard stories of couples who pass away relatively close to one another because the one left behind mourns them so deeply and cannot live without the other. In this, my Papaw received his wish in the early hours the day after Christmas. They are reunited once again, both whole and healthy, and I know Memaw was waiting for him.
I’ve poured over old notes, letters, and cards this week, I had no idea my grandfather was such an eloquent writer. The things I read showed me how very human both my grandparents were, showed their unconditional love for one another, and also showed their devotion to their faith. If you wonder where he is in this moment, the end of a letter he wrote said:
Lord make me whole, mend my spirit, take my hand that I may follow Thee. Lord I know that when my life is over on this Earth my soul will be with you in Heaven.
My grandparents were—no they are—strong in their faith. That faith gave them the peace and hope they would be together again. So while we are mourning his loss so close to hers, I know him well enough to say with confidence he would ask you to remember he is so very happy now. I can be sad for myself and still be happy for him because this is all he wanted.
Grief is different for everyone. We must all come to terms in the way that we need to. When the darker moments crowd in, remind yourself he did not want to stay, and part of loving someone this much means letting them go.
I mentioned this at Memaw’s funeral, and I want to say it again. Don’t wait on other people to call you first, to be the ones to stay in touch. My grandparents loved me, and I know this without a doubt, but I’ve had the relationship with them I do because I made the effort. If you constantly wait for someone else to call or text you first, you could miss out on something truly wonderful.
Tell people you love them. While we cannot help needing to be careful about physical contact during these uncertain times, we can always tell people we love them…that we think of them…that they matter. We can text just to say, “Hi” and ask how they are. It really doesn’t take that much effort, and you never know how much someone else needs to hear you’ve thought of them.
Papaw, thank you for indulging me every time I called. Whether we talked for five minutes or forty-five minutes, I was never sorry I called. Thank you for reminding me I shouldn’t gloss over things like I had no problems. That it was okay to tell you about all the things in my life, not only the best parts. I know you weren’t perfect, but neither am I. I loved you more for those imperfections. It meant I could just be my imperfect self too.
Thank you for setting an example of love and devotion. 65 years of marriage is such an accomplishment. The two of you set an example of how to love even when it’s not easy. You both forgave and loved unconditionally even when things were hard. I hope as you are walking through Heaven hand in hand, you’ll both feel all the love we have for you and know that it won’t waiver just because you’re no longer here. You live on in all of us.
I am going to miss our phone calls more than words can express. I’m so keenly aware of the hole in my life the two of you left, so I keep filling it with memories.
Mom, Julia, Sandy, Chris…just because your parents are no longer here to be the glue that connects you, don’t lose touch. Texts and phone calls are free, but they are rich in their worth. It matters that you not drift apart. Your mom asked for you to all stay close after they are gone in another note I found this week.
Even now, when the sadness creeps in, I try to replace those darker moments with happier ones because I know they're living their best lives now.
And finally…
Not long ago, Papaw and I were talking, and he told me about his favorite poem. He read it to me over the phone, line by line, and said he loved it so much. Something told me to save it.
He said it was called a Traditional Gaelic Blessing, and if I really try, I can still hear him reading it to me.
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
May the rain fall soft upon your fields,
and until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
I love you, Papaw.
