i'll see you soonsci fi book reviews

There is a house right now,

with a gold truck sitting in the driveway. Its keys no longer have an owner; its purpose now empty.

There are old pants, tucked away in a drawer. They are pants that will never be worn again.

There is a gold watch that sits on the dresser. Extra large numbers grace its face, made for failing sight. Sight that, now, is no longer failing.

There is a garage, full of an old man’s treasures. But now? They are treasures that he no longer has any use for.

***

{me + grandpa, a couple decades ago}

January 31^st, a Tuesday morning, I threw my suitcase into my trunk around 6am and I hopped on the freeway and I went. I drove the 440 miles to my grandma’s house and I prayed for enough time.

It was enough. In fact, it was more than I could’ve asked for. I arrived around 2pm and made a beeline for the bedroom, where my grandpa lay in a hospital bed, too weak to move. To speak. To open his eyes. But in that room, I got 7 blessed hours to spend with him. I stroked his white hair, kissed his forehead, held his hand. I told him about all my favorite memories with him. I asked for forgiveness for regrets. I thanked him. Over and over again, I thanked him. For giving all of us a home. For being the safe place, the refuge that all of us had run to at one time or another.

I also got to stand by his bedside when the chaplain came in to pray over him and sing his favorite song: Amazing Grace. I got to help the nurse make sure he was comfortable and I got to comb his hair.

I left around 9pm that night, but not before kissing him on the forehead and telling him I loved him.

And at 7am the next morning, in the middle of blowdrying my hair, my mom knocked on the bathroom door and told me: he had gone Home.

Home.

Where the cancer no longer has a hold on him.

Where his failing eyesight has been made new. Where he can see millions of colors that none of us can possibly imagine.

Where he’s not restricted to a hospital bed, but where he can run run run, as fast and as far as he wants to.

Where he gets to see the Face of His Creator. The Face of Grace.

I cried a lot that day. One, because I miss him. Already, I miss him. That voice that could carry across mountains and oceans. The one that said, “HEY, SWEETIE!” every time one of us would walk in the door.

I miss his boisterous laugh. His ridiculous sense of humor. His hugs. His Grandpa smell.

But I am so, so happy for him. Because finally, he’s free. He gave all of himself to everyone he came in contact with. And he deserves that we give away a piece of ourselves for him to be free and whole and NEW.

I also find it amazing how God worked things out. How He orchestrated everything for me to see him one last time. The Monday night before the Tuesday I drove up, I cried and thought about how much I already miss him. How I’d give anything to hold his hand one last time. And I swear, a still small voice told me, “It’s not too late. He’s still here. There’s still time.” That was at 11:30 at night and it took me all of about 2 minutes to throw some clothes into a suitcase and set my alarm for 5am the next morning.

And when the last hospice nurse came on that Wednesday morning after my grandpa had left, my grandma held hands with her and told of what a wonderful man he was. And then she said, “My granddaughter drove up yesterday all the way from Orange County. I think he knew we were all together. I think he was waiting for Charla.”

I don’t know whether or not that is true. I will never know. But the idea of it blesses me tremendously. Not that I’m more important than anyone else, but that our family fits together, like each piece of a puzzle. And nothing is truly right until all of the pieces are carefully pressed together, into each other.

One will always be missing now. Nothing will ever be right again. But none of us will ever be the same again because of that One. That’s what is so heartbreakingly beautiful about life.

***

That final Tuesday of January, as I sat by my grandpa’s bedside and asked for forgiveness, I realized a crucial part of myself, something I had never realized before:
I have grown up--spent my whole life--keeping people at arm's length. thinking that people will always hurt you or leave you.

And as I held my grandpa’s hand, as I stroked his forehead, and stared into the face of that sweet, sweet man, I realized, for the first time, that I’ve been wrong.

My grandpa never hurt me. Ever. I wasn’t even close to being the best granddaughter I could be, but that never seemed to matter to him. He never spoke harshly to me or looked at me in judgment. He loved me simply...because. I can't explain why. And he never asked me to be different than who I am. He never asked for anything in return.

I’m not sure I will ever understand that, but I am changed because of it.

If only we could all love like Grandpa. That Love, oh, it was a force to be reckoned with.

Actually...I think it still is...

as it lingers over everyone he knew

and changes them for the better.