I am a Realist

The month of June was a hard time for my family as we lost my beloved grandfather, Papa. He was 94 years old and had Parkinson's as well as had had a heart attack in the last month preceding his death. He was a man who loved Jesus more than anything else and this love of Jesus is what he poured into all of us over the course of our lives.  When we brought Papa home from the rehab (against their wishes as they wanted to send him to a nursing home), I was a realist about it. He was not getting better. He was not going to get better. They do not send you to a nursing home to get better.  

My mother set up a calendar of what days each of us would come and help grandmother. My day was Thursday with more time added after school let out (we only had 2 weeks of school left). There had also been a water leak and so there was some cleaning out to do down in the basement for repair work to be done. I was able to come serve one meal on a Thursday (I served breakfast) and it became apparent that coming and cooking for my grandfather was of no help to my grandmother. He wanted her cooking and he knew mine wasn't hers. So realist that I am, I let grandmother cook and found other things to do. I found beautiful pictures downstairs as I was cleaning out as well as books that he had written in, Bibles with his notes in the margins and various awards from his time with Alabama Power. That was a blessing.

In the first week of summer, my sister and I worked in the basement. Papa was doing as well as could be expected. He was in the living room and looked at some of the pictures we had found, even recognizing some of his siblings and his parents.  He talked about how much he loved the beach when he saw a picture of the beach. That was a blessing. 

The next day (Wednesday) Papa couldn't get out of bed and so instead of continuing to work in the basement, I sat by his bedside and held his hand. I am a realist. I knew that my time with Papa was ending. And I played him gospel music from my iTunes.  That day was the last day that he talked to me and when I was getting ready to leave he said "I sure do appreciate all that you all have done around here and one day when I am stronger, I am going to do something to help you." I assured him that I loved spending time with him and that he did not to worry about doing anything for me. That was the last coherent conversation I was able to have with him.That was a blessing. 

Hospice was called in the next day. That was a blessing.

I was able to spend a lot of time with him on Saturday and Sunday. He was not really conscious often but still I played him gospel music from my iTunes and held his hand. Sunday when I left, I told him good-bye and that I loved him very much. I told him that I thought he would hear "Well done good and faithful servant" before I could come back. I am a realist. 

Papa died early Tuesday morning, June 10.

All of that was several weeks ago now. And although I have had some sad moments, I am a realist and know that Papa would not come back if given the choice because he is in heaven with Jesus and free from his failing frail body. 

I write all this to say that over the last three days I have grieved more for my Papa than I have in the last month.  You see the gospel music that I played for him as I held his hand as he faded away to heaven is the same music that I listen to while I cook. That has been very hard. I am a realist, but today I am just really sad.