17. Sharing Memories

My grandpa passed away last Monday. The funeral preparations have been made and done with. Family has arrived and gone. Countless food dishes have come and been eaten. Sympathy cards have piled in. Our answering machine has been full. I feel surrounded by love and support; I really do, and it has been an utterly amazing blessing. I know he is at peace, but to be honest, I'm still struggling with his death, and think I will be for a while. He was such a large part of our lives, of my life, especially over these past months, and this is the longest I've ever gone without seeing him, talking to him, or writing to him. I miss his presence. I miss his voice. I miss the twinkle in his eye when he winked.

My grandpa was a teacher--by profession as a woodshop teacher, but foremost as one who was always learning and wanted to spread it to everyone around him. Every new thing he learned was something everyone got to hear at least twice. His causes--collecting pop can tabs for the local chapter of American legion, St. Jude's Children's Hospital, Saginaw Valley State University--were dear to his heart and always on the tip of his tongue. His passions for history and other cultures spread too. He got a black belt at age 66. He took physical fitness and computer classes at the local university. His daily question for me was, "What did you learn today?" It didn't matter whether it was a school day or not.

My grandpa was one of the first who taught me to question. I remember once when I asked him why the "p" in raspberry was silent. After looking it up, he decided it wasn't silent after all--we'd all been wrong! He had me tell everyone I knew, and he spread the word too. Eventually, of course, our supposition was proved false, but I will always remember what it felt like one of the first times I felt like I had been part of making a discovery that no one else had made.

He was stubborn, but so am I (and at least I know I have a legitimate source for it!) He swore, yelled, lashed out, but taught me patience. I think I will always know that I learned how to nurture from him first.

I'm sure there's more to come...

In closing, the words of "You are Mine" that played with Grandpa's pictures during visitation (Italics are mine):

I will come to you in the silence,
I will lift you from all your fear.
You will hear my voice,
I claim you as my choice,
Be still and know I am here.

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

I am hope for all who are hopeless,
I am eyes for all who long to see.
In the shadows of the night,
I will be your light,
Come and rest in me.

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

I am strength for all the despairing,
Healing for the ones who dwell in shame
All the blind will see,
The lame will run free,
And all will know my name.

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

I am the Word that leads all to freedom,
I am the peace the world cannot give.
I will call your name,
Embracing all your pain,
Stand up, now walk, and live!

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

"Do not be afraid I am with you" played with the pictures of me as a child smiling and laughing with Grandpa.

For someone so active before the rapid onset of dementia, these words seem so fitting, "I will call your name/embracing all your pain/stand up, now walk, and live!"

All cliche aside, God has called Harry E. Martin, Jr. back to life.

Grace & Peace