Stories

He is old. He has had a long and wonderful life. This is a comfort, I suppose, knowing he'll soon slip away into Our Father's hands. "There is no sting in it." I tell my husband. But tears come anyway, no sting but an ache in my heart, my grandpa is dying.

I see him kneeling to offer the deer an apple, he kept apples just for feeding the deer that wandered through his yard on the river.

I see him with our Christmas stockings on his feet, laughing and taunting us in our anticipation of finding treasure in those same stockings.

I hear his singing to me, he has a lovely voice, could have been Bing Crosby, I always thought.

Grandpa was a playful one. I was with him when I caught my first fish. He took me on walks and he saw me when I was there with him. He never overlooked me.

Tonight I toss around sadness that I didn't know him better. I didn't hear more of his story. Laced with guilt, I think on him and that I should have had more time with him. I don't like it that I feel guilty, but there it is. I regret that I didn't have more of HIS STORY to go on, to know him, to hear who he was and why he is that man.

He will be gone soon, his life is slipping away. I wonder about my sweet Grandma, she is not ready for him to be gone. I wonder what it's like when the reality hits a woman, that her husband-of-a-lifetime will be gone soon. I pray her heart will slip into this truth, that it won't knock her down.

Stumbling around, I try and learn to be sad. My heart doesn't like it. I want to swallow this apple-sized lump in my throat and tell myself something that makes the hurt go away. But sad is good. It's important. It's part of my story. So I'll clunk through today, wear my sad heart quietly and just be. The apple can stay there in my throat until the flood comes.

I will miss my grandpa.