My grandpa passed away Friday December 4th. He was 82. He slipped through the veil peacefully, surrounded by his children and grandchildren. In that sense, he died just how he lived – among those who loved him most.
He will be sorely missed.
I held the distinct honor of being his favorite oldest grandson. Something he continually reminded me of. It became an inside joke between the two of us, and was a small part of a bond tempered through time and experience that he and I shared. However, I can’t help but feel that I have entered a room that has been rearranged, with its centerpiece removed. It is unfamiliar, foreign, and empty.
But today I rest well, knowing that he does the same. The physical grief that engulfed his body has been eclipsed by that ethereal freedom and uninhibited joy that comes from shaking off the shackles of mortality. I can only hope that where he is, there are also peaks and meadows and quaking aspens and stands of evergreen pine. A sky that stretches on into eternity, wispy clouds straggling behind another sunset, deep and warm and inviting.
Rest in peace Boppa. And thank you. For your example, your storytelling, and most of all, your love.
I send you off with the words of Ed Abbey, that kindred spirit of us both:
“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets’ towers…where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you — beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.”
Until we meet again.