I lost the last of my grandparents about ten years ago, and my grandfather on my father's side I never knew. He died before I was ever born.
So, since I've been married, my wife's grandparents have served as a replacement. As of yesterday, at approximately 11:00 am, only one remains. Because at that time, my wife's grandmother, on her mother's side, passed away after 95 years. She lived a long life. But mostly, she was a woman who served others. A woman who could brighten the room with her smile. And a woman who loved the Lord.
My wife had the privilege of being by her side in the end. She watched as her grandmother's soul passed from this world to the arms of her Lord. There is an odd mixture of emotions at the death of someone who was so close and so intimately involved in my wife's life. The person is gone--no more visits, no more of her jokes, no more phone calls. Yet, the person isn't gone--memories persist, and will never leave.
There is sadness because it is like saying good-bye to someone that's been such an integral part of your life, with no way to send them a letter, call them up, or the hope of seeing them again. But then there is hope...knowing that she lives on in heaven, and her broken and failing body has been replaced with one that will never again know pain, reunited with the ones who left her behind.
This got me thinking to how I might feel if I should lose someone so incredibly close to me. My children, my parents, my wife. How could life continue? If I lost my wife today, how would I manage alone? It is a thought that I sometimes can't think about too long. It is like my brain shuts down, and I have to think that we'll live the rest of our lives together until the ripe old age of 90, when we both will lie down and enter heaven together, hand-in-hand.
But it rarely works out that way, doesn't it? So, I prefer not to think of it at all.
Death is a part of life. Loss something that causes us to hope. It's a time for change. But sometimes, we just wish things would stay the same.
