I met my maternal grandfather a little over 12 years ago. I was adopted as an infant and though I have reconnected with my birth family, 12 years does not seem like a very long time together when you consider the number of years apart.
Grandpa was a wonderful storyteller and he had many remarkable and fun adventures. We’ve spent so many visits sharing stories and that, for me, has been such precious time.
My grandpa’s health has always been declining. My grandma has always been his caretaker. Both are incredibly strong people with the biggest hearts. Their 56 years of marriage has been spent more in sickness than in health, but their love is based on faith and their relationship has always impressed upon me what love should looks like.
I visited Grandpa Joe a month ago, knowing it may be our last time together. He told me he asked his nurse to let him know when he was dying. I asked him why. He said, “I’ve never died before, so how will I know?”
This week, Grandpa went home to be with Jesus and into the waiting arms of my mother who went before him. Rest well Grandpa Joe. Give mom a hug for me. Watch over Grandma.
I will continue to capture the stories.