Grandfathers & Grace
In early October, I lost my grandfather. It had been over two years since I had seen him due to our cross-country move. The last day we spent together was a classic Midwestern summer afternoon – bright and green, sunny and sticky. And while each interaction was smudged with the fingerprints of dementia, he spent every moment of that day with my two little boys – watching as they chased bubbles and a bright yellow smiley-faced emoji frisbee with sunglasses. It was a snapshot of the best parts of him – his presence, his ability to play, and his tremendous heart for his grandchildren.
As my grandpa’s disorientation and disconnection with himself and others grew, the two-thousand-mile gap between us felt wider and wider. My heart ached to be closer, but the flow of my days and the needs of our family would only allow for one trip home to the Midwest, and I had decided to save it for his funeral. In the final days of his life, I had the beautiful opportunity to connect with my grandpa over Facetime. I shared stories and tears, thanked him for the many ways he had shaped my life, read Scripture to him, and then I said goodbye.
Days later, as I drove into his small, rural, Midwestern town, I felt as though I had been transported back in time. Westfield isn’t even found on most maps of Illinois; it is only a square mile in size, without a single traffic light, gas station, or store. As a kid, this place felt like magic. The slower pace of small-town life coupled with the safety and freedom to venture out and explore, created the perfect recipe for childhood wonder. It is the place I learned to ride a bike and drive a car. It is the place I spent my spring breaks and summers. From the stained-glass windows and red upholstery of the small country church to the smell of burning leaves in the fall and peonies in the spring, memories of this place are etched in every one of my senses.
My heart was filled with a bitter sweetness as I shared space and conversations with my extended family, navigating funeral details and our collective grief. Being in this place with multiple generations, drenched with memories and nostalgia, made me acutely aware of the traits of my family I now carry inside of me. I am hospitable and detail-oriented, like my grandma. I am responsible and sensitive, like my dad. And while I felt incredibly loved and delighted in by my grandpa my entire life, I’ve never considered myself to share any of his attributes.
Until this weekend.
Read the full article at Deeply Rooted Magazine.
