papa and kids

The anniversary was this week.  This last summer I was able to visit the resting place of my Papa’s body with my children – for the first time.  A lot more emotion surfaced than I expected.  When I was younger I never imagined my children would visit a grave site, rather than my Papa.  I would have loved to show off my children to my Grandpa, and on the flip side show off my awesome Papa to my little ones.  Love that man.  Here is something from a few years back, a small handful may have seen this before.  🙂

Today marks the ten year anniversary of my “Papa” changing his residence to a far more beautiful home.  Looking back I remember this day ten years ago.  I was wearing a white casual dress, in training at a new job.  I had already completed one week of training.  Suddenly I was called out of my cubicle.  I looked up to see my mother about 50 feet away from me, near the foyer area.  She had a look on her face I was not familiar with.  Immediately I thought someone had died.  Ironically I don’t know why that was my first thought, but my fear was shortly confirmed.

 “Papa died.”  

Immediately I burst into tears sobbing.  Now when something tragic happens my first thought is to question, how do we know this is true, and then I usually go into shock.  At age sixteen it was different, my emotions were less gaurded, and my heart was much more tender.  I kind of miss the pure emotion of that age.  Although I am thankful I can easily put on a front now a days.  We moved into a small conference room, got ourselves together, and went home.

I still can’t believe he is gone.  I cried myself to sleep that night and many nights following.  There were so many moments in that specific day that are SO impact-full to me.  Looking back I do not even really understand how I had time to experience all that I did in that one day.  

Walking into my house and seeing my grieving family.  Trying to comprehend that my dad had just lost his father and what that must be like.  My little brother had lost one of his heroes.  Appropriately it began to rain.  Pouring rain.  Weeping rain.  I went on a run.  I had sweat pants on, I was soaked, and I could cry.  No one could distinguish the tears from the rain. I listened to my music and ran.  I went to the park and swung in the rain.  The park was empty, no one was there.  The sun was no where in sight, the world was sad.  A wet, sad, cold, empty world, with a vacancy that no one could ever fill.  There was no other Papa.  He was gone.  God had taken him.  He never knew how much I had loved him.  I never knew how much I had loved him.

I think I could go on for about twenty pages…. the first time I returned to his home….  seeing specific relatives display different emotions… the strength of my dear grandma…..  

There were some bible verses that helped to get me through these times.  I wrote them on a notecard, and eventually gave them to my Grandma.  It was the only thing I had to offer her along with my love and hugs.  They were verses about God’s comfort.  Most of them were written by David.  I remember one was the ever popular “joy comes in the morning.”  I can tell you it is true.  Joy does come in the morning.  God’s timing is perfect.  I miss my Papa.  I would not do anything to bring him back.  I know that he is in the perfect place.  I want him to stay there and never come back.  I miss him.

The closeness that was displayed by my whole extended family was amazing.  There was grief, love, memories, hugs, and comfort.  It was also a spiritual time.  It made a strong family closer.  Unconditional support, love, and faith.  (Oh, and an unconditional supply of food lol)  

God has comforted, supplied our needs, and let us remember a truly great man.  Experiencing the death of my Papa was a good experience.  He is loved and missed greatly by all.  I will never stop missing him while on this earth.  I dream of a family reunion  in heaven lol….  we will see about that one lol….  I don’t know if they have those up there 😛 

I am thankful for the Papa that my children have to call their own.  Although they do not have the joy of meeting my Papa, just like my little brother, my son has a Papa to look up to as his hero.  My Papa would be proud of their Papa.


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