-----After my brother graduated from college, Grandma and Grandpa travelled down to Tennessee for a visit. In honor of the occasion, we had a party. Our house became filled with both people, packed in like sardines, and noise, which could have drowned out a passing train.
Seeking refuge, a friend of mine, our former youth minister and Grandpa joined me outside on the back porch. There we would eat our food in peace and quiet, enjoying the cool night’s breeze. Jay, the youth minister, was always one to collect wisdom. Seeing the time with Grandpa as an opportunity to add to that collection, Jay decided to ask him a question.
“Mr. Bedi,” he started, “What have you found to get you through the hard times of life, the times when nothing seems to go right and life doesn’t make any sense?” It seemed like a good question, so we all turned our heads to Grandpa, the wise sage among us.
Grandpa finished his bite, wiped his mouth and smacked his gums (as he tended to do). He reflected over the question a bit, searching his memories and answered.
“Well, I don’t believe I’ve had any of those times.”
With that response, Grandpa took a sip of his coffee and offered a comment on how good it tasted. My friend and I direct our gaze back on Jay, now sitting there with a bit of a perplexed look. He had expected a profound treatise on suffering or an enriching moral story, not this simple answer. It was Jay’s turn to talk and like most ministers he was never short of words. But here he could muster only one word:
“Wow.”
This little conversation, one of countless in a full life, illustrates what I admired and loved most about Grandpa. Somewhere along the line, he learned to be content. If life offered hardship, you sang a song and went to work. He made his difficulties simple. How could you not admire that?
Grandpa’s inner peace, joy and happiness could not be shaken. Well, maybe it could a little by Grandma. A simple phone call up to them would become a comedic argument on the other end of the line with the two debating small details of the call. Sometimes they would leave messages on our answering machine like this. Those were not deleted with much haste. But after 63 years of marriage, there was no doubt they loved each other. 63 years of marriage is something to be in awe of, probably even more so if you’re married. Sometimes 63 days is more than enough.
Since he walked closely with the Lord, I have no doubt that Grandpa is now in His arms. This being so, my mourning is mixed with joy. There is a bit of confusion in my heart, perhaps this explains the heaviness I’ve felt since I heard he did not have much time left.
He is now where every follower of Christ wants to be. I can only feel happiness about that. He has gained more now than any man could in infinite lifetimes. My grief comes from my, rather, our loss.
I’ll not get to have any more conversations with Grandpa. I’ll not get to hear that voice he reserved for babies. I won’t get to do any more puzzles with him. I’ll not get to see that grin, that big healthy smile that came as he listened to stories and when he was around his family or when he was trying to get Grandma a little flustered and riled up. And I’ll not get to see him in those two perpetual outfits: that brown or that blue sweater.
I have the memories, but to know that no more will be made is a loss. Perhaps that is not quite true. The new memories will come as I share my knowledge of him with those close to me: my future kids and family, my friends. They’ll come as I talk to my brother and sister-in-law’s coming baby in the closest voice to Grandpa’s I can muster. They’ll come as I try to live my life with the same goodness he did.
My time with Grandpa was not long. We moved away when I was 9 and the distance made it hard to stay connected. But it made the time I had with him all the more sacred. I went into that time with purpose: to know him, to learn from him, to enjoy him. I am grateful for those times, especially those I got to have in the last few years while I was grown up, or at least close to it.
There was a goodness that dwelled in Grandpa, richly and deeply. As his grandson, baby grandson at that, I feel nothing but sincere pride and honor that his blood is running through my veins. He is my heritage, my ancestry and because of that, I am blessed. I hope that I can honor and inherit that goodness in my life and that when I pass through this world I’ll have a grandson that will look upon me with even a fraction of the adoration as I do him.
Grandpa, thank you for your life. I love you and I’ll see you again.-----
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