"One day" that has perhaps been considered with trepidation for it is unknown. "One day" that we know, in faith, leads to life. We let go and take hold.
My Grandpa is dearly beloved and he is letting go of his tired body. Time is just about past and will be no more, for an eternity with Jesus is about to begin. It was entirely fitting, and a memory that will forever remain with me, that sees us seated around a table playing Scrabble and singing hymns to Grandpa in his final hours on this earth. The soothing voices of my Aunt and Uncle mingles with my mother's and the comfort of a childhood long bereft comes back. I can't explain it, simply to say, it's complicated and beautiful and no songs about Jesus and hope should be silenced. Because, it will be worth it all... Everything of this life fades at the nearness of eternity. The dying understand that better than anyone. I sat with my Grandpa quite a bit today and I know he saw heaven. He sat up, and his face completely changed and he reached out his arms. His eyes that could not focus on my face in this life were seeing something. So precious is it to witness. Joy. Complete and full joy from someone almost non responsive for hours. In fact the word I would rather use is, "amazed." In his face I saw that he could not believe what he was seeing. That memory is mine to keep.
My last words were not super eloquent. It went something like this.... " Hey Grandpa, it's Angela. There are really only a few steps left between you and Jesus and that is such a good thing. You're almost there. You've been the best Grandpa to all of us and we all love you. Thank you for teaching me to play and love the game of Scrabble. Thank you for teaching me to fish and sharing that passion with me. I love you, I really love you and we will see you later, okay? Yep, I ended that sucker on an interrogative. But the point was, you and I both know we're meeting up again. I didn't want it to be a long narrative because we writers could go for days and there just isn't that kind of time.
I'm sitting in his house, remembering one of our last times together here; he was teaching me to make fudge. It was not entirely a lesson for frustration was edging in; I wasn't seemingly an adept student and he was having a little difficulty executing, but the fudge was delicious. It was also the last time we played Scrabble together. Precious memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my soul. In the stillness of the midnight, precious, sacred scenes unfold.
To the popcorn and chocolate lover, to the hater of Hungarian dumplings, to the faithful and elect, to the one who said I was the best girl on Nimisila Road, to my Sunday dinner seated companion, to the one who told me at ten to aim a little higher than "McDonalds cashier," to the one who faithfully drove me to high school, to the triple word seeker, to the dispenser of "qua" and "za," to the Scrabble master at whose feet I learned to love the game that now defines me......
Goodbye.
My sorrow is deep, but it is temporary. For one day I too will let go, and take hold, and enter eternity where there is no darkness and time is irrelevant. We will be with Jesus, together, forever.
Grandpa's benediction for Grandma:
God's been good and it's been fun.
God's been good and it's been fun. A writer could say it no better.
