PawPaw

July 2015

It's strange that Daddy has been gone for two months. I've hardly possessed the wherewithal to write about it, except in my faithful journal that traverses all circumstances with me. The time we spent last summer in Georgia was golden, and more so filtered through the lens of the end that so quickly came after our departure.

This is from my journal, written on September 2, one day after we celebrated 9 years with our Asa and as we knew Daddy was living his final days with us.

I have reached the stage in my life where my heart is split- my precious Asa turned 9 yesterday and I reflect on the beauty and gift of his life with deep thanksgiving. My heart meanwhile aches for Daddy, lying in his hospice bed in Georgia, sleeping away the pain of the disease bent on destroying his earthly frame. I am in the middle, focused on the life and growth and newness of experience of these dear children God has given, bursting with joy as they walk the path ordained for them, so early in their journeys...AND my focus is simultaneously on the end- my heart somehow outside of me, residing in that now quiet room across the world, where one of the people God ordained to give me life traverses the end of his journey. His body is of little use now as the illness has diminished his frame, but his spirit, his 'made in the image of God'-ness, still strives. He walks through his children and grandchildren, his sister and brother and nieces and nephews and cousins, his many friends- he walks through the love and relationship sown in our hearts through years of life together- of laughter and joy and sorrow and holidays and motorcycle rides and hunting and fishing trips and races and cookouts and conversations. You lie and rest now, Daddy- we're walking for you.

I am so grateful that I was able to travel back to be with my family as we said goodbye to him and celebrated his life. The kindness and love that surrounded me everywhere I turned during that time can hardly be described- a fitting reflection of the kind and good heart of the God who weeps with us in our grief.