a year after the taking — blessed be His name

I don't do much outdoors anymore.

Grandpa's gone; thus so are my lawn-mowing responsibilities, my gardening assistance, my sweet-corn planting under his supervision, our front yard porch swing visits...

My seasonal outdoor job ended a month after he passed and I don't think I could ever bring myself to go back.

I heard the news of his death while I was at work there.

I've largely stopped running. I was slacking on that before he died, but especially afterward.

I don't feel like doing anything I did when he was alive. I hardly want to. Can hardly bring myself to it.

Everything reminds me of him.

The runs I did down our lovely country road... Past his house, void of him now; past our neighbor's house, void of him now too (Grandpa's farmer friend who passed 6 months after Grandpa did)...

All the lovely painful memories.

Perhaps someday they will be sweet again.

But right now, and for the past year, and I certainly hope not for forever... They just hurt.

What hurts almost worse is ignoring them though.

Ignoring him.

Forgetting him, in a sense.

I don't want to — and I won't — forget my dear Grandpa, but boy it ain't much fun remembering him either.

Because memories are just memories. Just little snapshots in my head. I can see them, hear them, even almost feel them... But I cannot touch them, hold them, know them.

I can no longer — never again, this sorry side of Heaven — know him.

And that's a pain that cuts all the way through me.

———

It has been a little over a year now since his Savior took him Home in the early hours of his 86th birthday, and thus granted him the best birthday present he'd ever received.

It has been an awful year. Not for him but for me. (Are there years in Heaven? Probably not?)

I'm inexpressibly grateful for my Grandpa, for the gift that he was, the great blessing he was, the impact he had on me (and so many others) and all the time we had together... And I'm grateful he is with his Savior.

But boy do I miss him.

Pretty hard losing the most important person in the world.

And his death was a clean harsh cut. A cold-turkey severance. Just boom, immediately: no more evening visits for TV and conversation; no more odd jobs together; no more afternoons on the swing; no more suppers together; no more recycling or grocery trips together; no more wise and seasoned mentorship; no more hugs; no more phone calls; no more Grandpa. Just immediately all gone.

And I am left floundering. Still. In the wake of his sudden and unexpected absence, I am unmoored, set adrift, rather rudderless.

(That one kid in my creative writing college class a million years ago would, par for the course, critique this writing as being too dramatic right now. But alas.)

....But — as awful and irreverent as it sounds — without Grandpa, I only have God. I asked myself after his death whether I had perhaps idolized him somewhat. I'm not perfectly sure of the answer and I hope it's a "no," but either way, upon the death of the mortal person I held most dear and looked to for guidance... I am truly reminded that I have only God.

My highest Love and truest Guide.

My Father.

That is a great comfort to me. As it should be, and perhaps should've been, even more, before Grandpa died.

"When earthly comforts are stripped away,

My truest Comfort none can slay."

The Lord giveth and He taketh away.

Blessed be His name. 💚✝️