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In Memory.


My Grandfather's Memorial Service was today. I'm sad that I couldn't be there. Funerals have a way of bringing people together. It's a reunion of friends and family that have been brought together in the remembrance of a loved one. Weddings and Funerals are eerily similar...but way different. I prefer weddings, for they are more joyful due to every one's happy spirits. It's hard to be completely joyful at a funeral. When I think of my Grandpa dancing in Heaven I am happy...but the sadness of the loss doesn't go away. It's like a button has been ripped out of a sweater leaving a hole. It's a constant reminder of what used to be there.

All in all everyone is taking his passing okay. He had a stroke soon after Thanksgiving, so we've had some time to prepare for his death. It's still hard to let go.

Peter and I were talking about him the other night. Remembering his last words to us. I don't remember his to me (knowing him, he probably gave me a hug and said "be good, kid"...like usual), but Peter remembers him taking him aside and saying take care of your family. You're doing a great job. I think he was pleased with how our little family was turning out - proud even. His eyes would light up when he would see my (then) baby Simon and he loved it when we would sit near him and chat. He was a very quiet man, but very generous with the few words that he would use.

He stayed busy up until his stroke. I think after the stoke, not being able to get out of bed and do stuff around the farm was harder on him than we'll ever know. Even though he was 77, retired for a few years and slowing down due to his age, he still put in a full garden and took care of the farm. He even canned fruits and veggies for my family (what would I give for a can of peaches or beans...or beets from my Grandpa!!).

I have so many great memories of him as a kid. When I was younger I would visit the farm for a few weeks every Summer. We would go fishing (he would always gut my fish for me, because he knew how squeamish it would make me to see their insides. He also would bait my hook for me as well - there's just something about stabbing a poor squirmy worm on a hook that didn't sit well with me.). He would also let us help with the milking of the goats and would let us grind corn for the animals as well. He never made fun of me for my near death panic attacks of seeing farm mice running around the farm buildings...and never seemed surprised that I grew fond of catching frogs and garter snakes. The thing that stands out the most though, were the tractor rides. Those were the best.

I am EVER so grateful that he was a believer and is in heaven worshiping Jesus right now as I type. I had tears running down my face last Sunday during the worship service as I realized that Grandpa was worshiping Jesus in a much deeper and intimate way than we could ever imagine. He is worshiping Him at His feet and is gazing up into His face. What a beautiful thing that must be. I envy him with a holy passion. Until we meet again in heaven...I love you Grandpa.

December 18, 1983


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