As I sit on this airplane heading towards home and my grandfather’s funeral, looking out the window through the clouds to the model train looking earth and landscape, I wonder if this in anyway resembles God’s view from Eternity?
Funny thing about death, funerals and grief – the irony – they grant you time. First is the phone call. I am not sure which part is harder, the making of or the receiving of the call. How do you say, “Grandpa died”? How do you hear and accept, “your Grandpa died”? Then there is the rush to plan the funeral. There were plans and decisions to be made. I have a large family and as the younger generation I do not even begin to make the pecking order. I just wait for the phone call on place and time and then make my reservations.
Now the rush of details is over and I sit with Time. I sit and look out my window at the clouds and we are just far enough up that I can still see the outline of houses and roads, farmland and forest. I think about the fact that all we stake our lives on, all we spin our wheels for, all the time, money and energy we expend on these tangible items and ideas that from the sky look minute. I think about the tornadoes that have ripped through the country leaving thousands of people homeless and without any tangible pieces of their life to hold in their hands. How easily what we build can be laid flat. The time I am given and my grandfather’s death provoke my thoughts to the building of a life. What is the foundation? “From dust you were created, to dust you shall return.” You enter this world taking your first breath away from God and leave it taking your first breath back into God.
On what foundation did my grandfather build his life? On what foundation shall I build mine? Getting ready to leave on this trip by myself was very strange. I love to travel, I long to travel at times, to see the world I do not know except from books and movies. But the reality of travel is different. I kept hold of my tiny carry on luggage feeling as though I was missing something. And I was. I am missing my husband and his instructions and mapped out directions. I am missing my kids and their ipods and dsi’s and backpacks filled with snacks and gum. I began to wonder what if I didn’t return to this normal life, this foundation I had built. What have I not said to my husband and kids that they need to know from my heart? What have I not done for my family and my friends and my neighbors? Where have I not gone? What have I not proclaimed?
When we die we take nothing with us, we enter the world naked and leave the world naked. And yet how many hours a day do I expend time and money and energy on all things physical and tangible that have no eternal meaning? I believe all I truly have is my Spirit. I also believe my spirit cries out in surrender to the One Spirit, the Creator, the Almighty. What will my spirit bring home to The Spirit? What stories will I share, what sorrows will I lay down? What joys will I uplift? I can’t imagine falling into the arms of Jesus and saying “well I had about $100 in savings but that won’t help with the mortgage and I totally forgot to clean the bathroom and sweep the floor before I joined you here.”
I have this image of the Eternal as being a time of Rest and Peace and complete and utter freedom. My grandfather was in the war. He saw and experienced the dark side of human nature, the stark reality of evil and how it can be used to harm and degrade others. He was severely injured, what I have recently come to know as a Wounded Warrior. I believe it was mortar, although I do not know much about weaponry. What I do know is he went to war a young man, full of life, with a young wife full of love waiting at home for him. He came home a man who had seen too much and his body severely wounded. My father said something very striking, that my grandfather had “lived his hell here on earth.” I took this in as I prayed for my grandpa and his crossing to the other side. I have this distinct image of my grandpa passing right through many of the stages the rest of us might need to go through; straight into the arms of Jesus. I see him as that young man before he marched on to war; standing up straight, mischief in his eyes and joy in his heart. Ready to claim again who he was before life and war created who he was to become. I wonder how different his life might have been if he hadn’t gone to war? Or if he had gone but not been injured? I will never know because he never shared those thoughts or feelings with me.
It is interesting to me today to note that we have a separate identity with each person who knows us. My grandfather is known in different ways to each one of us who will attend his funeral. My grandma knows him as a man, a husband. My dad knows him as a Father, I know him as my grandpa. I have my sacred memories of who he was to me and how he was with me. Sometimes as we get older we learn more about people. It seems as we grow out of childhood people feel they can share stories to help us gain perspective on the whole person. I appreciate this knowledge of different facets, but another part of me doesn’t want to know. He is my grandpa. He would lie on the couch and I would sit on the floor next to him and he would pat my shoulder or tickle my ear and we would sit and watch gunsmoke together. I tried to find gunsmoke on tv the night he died, I wanted to watch it and feel close to him. I know he loved me, I have no doubt. What did he teach me? Quietness and stillness is strength and that men on the outside can appear strong and intimidating, but can be just as tender on the inside. And my grandpa taught me we are who we are and the world goes on around us. I didn’t realize he looked different. He was just my grandpa, always has been, always would be. It wasn’t until someone asked me what happened to him that made me do a double take and realize he didn’t look like everyone else. And the truth is he taught me that it doesn’t matter what we look like, it matters who we are. It matters how we love, it matters how we care and serve.
I guess now that he is above the clouds and standing on the balcony of eternity he knows all that he taught me. I don’t know that I ever told him in our life together. In my heart of hearts I know he knows I adore and loved him and my grief is strong in missing him and my tears also shine with joy for the time I did have with him.
Hugs and love to you my grandpa until we meet again!
Holly, Death is never easy, no matter one's age or stage in life. The qualities you learned from and so admire about your Grandpa will remain alive in you and your children as you raise your family. What better lesson could one teach their children than it matters only who we are, how we love, how we care and how we serve. And, what a gift to learn that you can be quiet, still and strong all at the same time. You are a blessing!
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