I am sitting here in my apartment 1800 miles away from the rest of my family as I'm trying to somehow process the news that Granddaddy, my sweet, lovely, wonderful granddaddy, has died. This is my first grandparent to die, which I realize as a 24-year-old, means that I am in fact a very lucky person. This is also the farthest away I have ever been from my family, and the first Christmas I has ever spent not with family, and not seeing him. Which is just laughably heartbreaking. Because of course. Of course.
But I don't want to dwell on all my "woulda shoulda coulda" thoughts. We always wish we had more time, we always regret we didn't call one more time (why didn't I call one more time??) There is never enough time for goodbye because there should never have to be a goodbye to begin with.
And I admit I've grown spoiled, because I swear to you, this man just would not die. I can't tell you how many times this man should have died. Back when he had a whipple surgery over 10 years ago. Back when he got diagnosed with Leukemia the first time, back when he got the SECOND TYPE of Leukemia. Back when he had to have emergency abdominal surgery because scar tissue had occluded his intestines while he was in the middle of chemo treatments. When he spent months in the hospital getting severe chemo for a cancer that should have killed him years ago. This man just kept going. I think I kind of became convinced that nothing would kill him, that he would just continue to conquer everything his body threw at him. You can't say Granddaddy wasn't Strong. That he wasn't a Fighter. And no one knew better than Granddaddy that he had more time than he deserved, more than he was owed, that every day he had was a glorious blessing. If you ever sat down with him, he would be sure to tell you that he had been blessed more than he ever dared dream, that his life was more full and beautiful than he ever imagined it could be.
I wish you could meet my Granddady. I really wish you could. Because he was just incredible.
Granddaddy was born on 10-20-30. He loved that. He loved math and numbers, and he would always pull out fun patterns for us. Every year without fail my birthday card would tell me why this year was interesting mathematically. I wonder what he would say about 1-16-13.
He taught math for many years at Georgia State. Before that he attended Georgia Tech and met and fell in love with my grandmother, and older woman while he was in college in downtown Atlanta in the late 40s/early 50s. Even though his parents didn't like the idea of him marrying a woman 4 years his elder, he did, and love her well he did, too.
Jan and Bobby. It's funny, because their names were flopped, and it worked perfectly. Except one always had to clarify, my grandDADDY Jan; Bobby, my grandMOTHER.
Granddaddy. He loved learning, he had a curious spirit that never died. And he loved teaching. Teaching someone else to see something beautiful and exciting and clever in the world. If he sat you down to go over a math problem with you, there would be glee in his eyes. If you asked him how a kaleidoscope worked, he would tell you in a way that made you want to listen, in a way that made you want to find out more. That's why he was such a good teacher.
He didn't teach forever. At some point he and my grandmother decided that he might retire and instead open a Bed and Breakfast. The Veranda, in Senoia, GA. A quaint lovely perfect little B&B. He and Bobby made the perfect pair to run the inn. He was an ideal entertainer, telling stories, doing (mathematical) tricks, handling the books, while my grandmother cooked 3 full meals a day. It was an interesting idea of retirement that's to be sure. And this is the stage of life that I most remember my grandparents from. The days when they lived in a magical place where I could go visit with my cousins and play with the huge doll house in the downstairs guest room, or dance down the long hallway, or get as much fountain soda as we wanted from the back hall! Granddaddy taught me how to turn down a bed, and how to serve others.
And then, of course, to retire from those long-houred days running the Veranda, they decided to open a Kaleidoscope Shop in Atlanta, to be closer to family, and have less hours. In their late 70s/80s. They opened a store. A shop full of wonder and beauty. If you went in the shop, you could get lost, and there was nothing more that my grandparents wanted than to have people stop and wonder at something beautiful.
He still sang in the church choir, he still would walk a mile every day with his wife around his neighborhood. He would always ask how you were doing never let the conversation stay on him for too long. He had just bought a mountain property for the family to share in the GA mountains. One of the last times I talked to him, he was up in the mountains with Grandmother just having a grand time, he said, they couldn't wait to come up to the new house with me, to have me see it, to share it with me.
This man never stopped living. He never said I've lived enough, I've done enough, I guess I can sit back and relax and wait to die now. His days were full. They moved into a house surrounded by trees when they moved back to Atlanta because his wife loved the birds. It was their real life tree house with big windows and they would sit on the back porch and listen to the birds and point out to me which was which.
His heart was so big. I don't think he ever met anyone he didn't love. He and my grandmother have a talent for loving people that many others don't. He taught me that everyone can and should be loved.
His heart was for the Lord. In a beautiful and wonderful way. He never stopped praising God for his goodness. He never stopped thanking God for each and every day. He was in the hospital, he was getting chemo, and he was thanking God.
He was acutely aware of the fact that he had gotten more days than he deserved. That time and again God had decided to let his heart keep on beating even when all reason said it should have stopped. And he figured if that was the case, he would keep enjoying each day.
But he was ready to go home, too. How could you not be? How can a part of your soul not always ache to return to your creator, to be restored, to finally be in the Glory of the Lord, redeemed by the blood of Christ, your body whole again.
I want to laugh with glee at the thought that Granddaddy's body is whole and complete again. That he can run and laugh and dance without growing weak or tired anymore. Because these past several years as he's gotten weaker, I know it was hard on his spirit.
But my heart is breaking, my heart is broken because why do I have to be removed from him, why does he have to be removed from me, why do I have to carry on for the majority of my life without him in mine? Why does he not get to witness my life live out, why can no one ever meet this man again? This man who I feel like every person should have known. This man who I can't even begin to describe in a post, no matter how long or short. How can I even begin to pretend that I can sum him up in one post? How can I even delude myself to think I knew half of the man he was?
But he was a wonderful man. Giving, loving, supportive. He was so proud of me. Every time I would visit him, he'd tell me he'd been bragging to all his nurses about his granddaughter the nurse.
Last christmas my aunt had the idea for all of us to write down some trait we felt we had learned from Grandmother or Granddaddy and put them all on a tree, to show all the ways they had a living family tree, a living testament of their life. Or something, she phrased it much nicer than I can right now today. I had a really hard time picking just one word. In fact, in the end, I think I wrote three. I still have the list on my phone trying to decide what to write. It's a long list, a beautiful list, a list that I hope I could have half the things one day written about me.
- Joy
- Tender
- Courage
- Curiosity
- Steadfast
- Faith
- Hospitality
- Service
- Sharing
- Openness
- Inquisitive
- Diligence
Except I selfishly wish it had been longer, I selfishly wish that I could have been there, I selfishly wish I could have called him one last time to say I love you, I love you so much, you are so amazing to me, you are so wonderful to me, I am so impressed by you, I am so awed by you, you are a type of man we should all wish to be, you love people so wonderfully, you love the lord so dearly, your heart is so big and tender and open and true. Of course, he wouldn't have let me say any of that even if I had wanted to, he would have tried to spend all the time telling me how much he loved me, how proud he was of me, how excited he was for my new traveling adventures, and how blessed he felt to have gotten the time he had.
Honestly, honestly, the hardest part in this, the thing that makes me start crying all over again the most, is that I can't imagine a world with Grandmother and no Granddaddy. They have been a perfect unit for so many years. Granddaddy was amazing, but so is Grandmother, and the two of them together... God used them so well, so wonderfully. I hope I can one day have a marriage half as beautiful as theirs, half as glorifying as theirs. It doesn't seem right that one should go while the other must stay. I don't understand a world where I will go see my grandmother and there will be no Granddaddy beside her.
I've lost one of my fiercest prayer warriors, one of the most amazing men in my life, but I am rejoicing because he is with our Savoir. And I am crying because life was not meant for this. My soul was not meant for this separation and it is crying out, aching, longing for the renewed world where there is no death, no sickness, no crying, but rejoicing and singing and laughing and running through fields and being in the glory of the Lord. Whatever the heck that means.
Granddaddy, I'm so jealous you know.
Granddaddy, I'm so sad you're gone.
Granddaddy, I can't wait to join you there one day, forever.
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