I've learned that when something big, something life-changing happens, it takes me a while to process. It can take hours, days, or even weeks before the words will come, before I feel like I can adequately explain.
On Monday, I will be flying out to Iowa for Thanksgiving. It's a trip I've been planning for a couple months. When I made the decision to go, it had been in the back of my mind for over a year that I needed to go out to see my grandparents when the chance came. Grandpa's health had been fading for a while, and Grandma isn't getting any younger either (although she doesn't look it). It was a good opportunity to spend the holiday with my sisters and their families and add a side trip to see Grandma and Grandpa while I was in the area.
On September 26, I received a text from my dad that Grandpa had been taken to the hospital. We almost lost him then. I remember thinking at the time that I was supposed to see him in two months. He spent three days in ICU and a total of six days in the hospital before being moved into a nursing home. On Monday, October 29, he was back home.
Then came Wednesday.
First it was a voicemail from my mom saying that she had bad news. That was followed by a text from my dad, and then a phone call with my mom. Grandpa wasn't doing well. Once again, one of my first thoughts was that I was supposed to see him soon, that he had to make it until then. Instead, he slipped into eternity late that afternoon.
Grandpa always claimed that he was going to keep me. Every time we would see him and Grandma, he would ask if I had brought enough stuff if we were visiting them or if I had packed yet if they were visiting us. After all, I was obviously going to stay with them when we said goodbyes.
There are a lot of memories I could share: rides on the tractors when we were at the farm, grape soda poured over a bowl of ice cream, his wall covered in old National Geographic magazines, learning how to shell nuts from the bag he always seemed to have by his chair, his many jokes, his knowledge about seemingly endless topics, his famous blue hat. Of course, everyone who knew Grandpa always goes back to one thing in particular: the golden dollars he so freely gave out. It wasn't at all uncommon for each of us grandkids to leave Grandpa's house with a roll of the coins, which we were expected to spend and put out into circulation. On that topic, I don't think I'll put it any better than my sister Debbi did:
"Grandpa might tell you he did this because he believed a dollar bill is flimsy and not made to last & he wanted to have something lasting in circulation. I am sure he read an article about it in one of his many, many history/business magazines. However, I believe the real reason he did it was because giving those coins to people was a reflection of who he was & it gave him immeasurable joy to see the smile that his gift of a dollar coin would bring to other's faces."
I once used him as my topic in Speech class in college. I don't think I ever told him. Recently, I had the thought that I should print out a copy to show him over Thanksgiving. I never got the chance. I may still take a copy for Grandma, but honestly, my heart still aches that I never got to see him for what I knew would probably be the last time. I never got to give him that last hug, to tell him one last time how much I love him.
Last week, I took a quick there-and-back whirlwind trip to Iowa for the funeral. This next week, I will take another trip to spend Thanksgiving with my parents, sisters, their families, and yes, Grandma. There will be an empty seat at the table, an empty spot in our hearts. And yet, as I whispered beside the casket before leaving the graveside, this isn't goodbye. This is just see you later. Later than I planned. Later than I wanted. But it will still happen. I'll give him that hug. I'll get to tell him that I love him. And when I do, we'll have forever ahead of us.
Grandpa was never what I would call a strong Christian. He wasn't the spiritual leader of the family that we might have hoped he would be. But he did believe, and when he took his last breath, that is what mattered. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved" doesn't have any strings attached. That is why it's called grace. That is why I know I'll see my grandpa again in a place where there is no more crying or pain.
That's what I'm thankful for as we approach Thanksgiving. God gave me a special gift when he allowed me to be the granddaughter of George Carter. And I'm not saying goodbye. Just see you later.
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