The Lone Star: A Tribute
You used to be alive once, in both senses. You used to be full of life and laughter, and you had so much love within you. Your heart must have held more than an ocean.
You were also alive in the sense that once you had been living. You used to breathe above ground, feel the wind blowing through your hair. You used to see everything all at once, but at the same time you saw nothing at all, because eyes were just eyes when it came down to it.. I wonder now, since you've been gone, how much you miss being alive and everything that comes with it. How much you miss seeing and hearing, miss feeling your family's love...
I don't know what I believe about death. I don't know where you go or what you do, if anywhere or anything at all. I'd like to believe you're in Heaven with God, looking down on us and feeling proud. I'd like to believe you were watching grandma from way up there, as she sits in the same chair you used to at the table, and looks out on that every day view with fresh eyes. I wonder how she sees it, and how she thinks you had all those years before.
Your funeral was on a Monday morning at the Reformed Church in town. Grandma kept your casket open outside the sanctuary, and I thought you looked handsome.
You wear peacefulness very nicely, grandpa
The funeral lasted some time, though now the only thing I remember is grandma getting up and saying a few words about you, but even that could have been a dream. I don't remember a pastor, who I was sitting by, I don't even hear crying. There was definitely crying though, just never from my own eyes. To this day I ask myself why. I wonder if you felt like I didn't love you.
I wonder if I loved you too much.
Dad (your son) and other men wearing nice clothing and sad faces carried your casket down the steps to the hearse. Those of us who could, followed as you lead us to your final resting place.
The cemetery was beautiful in the cold December air. It only seems fitting, wouldn't you agree, that such a cold yet beautiful occurrence happened on such a cold yet beautiful day?
Your cancer made it impossible for you to stay in Michigan during the winter, so every year you and grandma would travel down to Texas before it got too cold. Grandma fell and hurt her knee while there, and you knew above all else that her health was important. You decided it would be in her best interest to come home so your actual doctors could help her, but you both knew it could be catastrophic for your own health.
That proved to be true.
I don't know how it all happened, but you came home and instantly went to the hospital. You made it clear you didn't want any of your grandchildren to visit, and I feel as though it's because you just knew. You were dying. In a way, though, I don't believe that's how your saw it. In my hear of hearts I think I know that you didn't see it as dying, you saw it as saving a life.
More importantly, your wife's life.
Sometimes, that's all we need.
The short nine years I spent with you left burning memories in my mind. Your life and legacy have left footprints on my heart. And I see you every night, looking up at the lone star.
The days I pass that church warm my heart. I look through those glass doors and I see that moment again; you lying peacefully in your casket, seemingly content with the way in which you'd left. I see my family standing around, silently wishing this wasn't real, that it wasn't actually happening..
Grandma leans over and gives you a kiss; a final goodbye to her one true love. That's the last thing I see as the church blurs past, the last time I see it until I pass by again.
You were and always will be a part of my family, a part of who I am. I miss you so much, and I spend every day believing that Heaven is for real, just for the chance to see you again. Until then, however, you're in my heart forever.
(I have been reminiscing through my senior portfolio book, and stumbled upon this piece on my grandpa. He would have been 75 in February, had he not passed 11 years ago. Rest in peace, grandpa. Until we meet again..)
You were also alive in the sense that once you had been living. You used to breathe above ground, feel the wind blowing through your hair. You used to see everything all at once, but at the same time you saw nothing at all, because eyes were just eyes when it came down to it.. I wonder now, since you've been gone, how much you miss being alive and everything that comes with it. How much you miss seeing and hearing, miss feeling your family's love...
I don't know what I believe about death. I don't know where you go or what you do, if anywhere or anything at all. I'd like to believe you're in Heaven with God, looking down on us and feeling proud. I'd like to believe you were watching grandma from way up there, as she sits in the same chair you used to at the table, and looks out on that every day view with fresh eyes. I wonder how she sees it, and how she thinks you had all those years before.
Your funeral was on a Monday morning at the Reformed Church in town. Grandma kept your casket open outside the sanctuary, and I thought you looked handsome.
You wear peacefulness very nicely, grandpa
The funeral lasted some time, though now the only thing I remember is grandma getting up and saying a few words about you, but even that could have been a dream. I don't remember a pastor, who I was sitting by, I don't even hear crying. There was definitely crying though, just never from my own eyes. To this day I ask myself why. I wonder if you felt like I didn't love you.
I wonder if I loved you too much.
Dad (your son) and other men wearing nice clothing and sad faces carried your casket down the steps to the hearse. Those of us who could, followed as you lead us to your final resting place.
The cemetery was beautiful in the cold December air. It only seems fitting, wouldn't you agree, that such a cold yet beautiful occurrence happened on such a cold yet beautiful day?
Your cancer made it impossible for you to stay in Michigan during the winter, so every year you and grandma would travel down to Texas before it got too cold. Grandma fell and hurt her knee while there, and you knew above all else that her health was important. You decided it would be in her best interest to come home so your actual doctors could help her, but you both knew it could be catastrophic for your own health.
That proved to be true.
I don't know how it all happened, but you came home and instantly went to the hospital. You made it clear you didn't want any of your grandchildren to visit, and I feel as though it's because you just knew. You were dying. In a way, though, I don't believe that's how your saw it. In my hear of hearts I think I know that you didn't see it as dying, you saw it as saving a life.
More importantly, your wife's life.
Sometimes, that's all we need.
The short nine years I spent with you left burning memories in my mind. Your life and legacy have left footprints on my heart. And I see you every night, looking up at the lone star.
The days I pass that church warm my heart. I look through those glass doors and I see that moment again; you lying peacefully in your casket, seemingly content with the way in which you'd left. I see my family standing around, silently wishing this wasn't real, that it wasn't actually happening..
Grandma leans over and gives you a kiss; a final goodbye to her one true love. That's the last thing I see as the church blurs past, the last time I see it until I pass by again.
You were and always will be a part of my family, a part of who I am. I miss you so much, and I spend every day believing that Heaven is for real, just for the chance to see you again. Until then, however, you're in my heart forever.
(I have been reminiscing through my senior portfolio book, and stumbled upon this piece on my grandpa. He would have been 75 in February, had he not passed 11 years ago. Rest in peace, grandpa. Until we meet again..)
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