Today has been so strange. After an amazing dinner at Cazador, which was entirely remarkable moment-worthy, we giggled our way to the DVD store to pick something out, when Mum got a phone call from Nana.
Poppa was gone.
It was as if the world sucked in a huge breath at that moment and we sat in stunned silence in the car as we waited for it to exhale.
When we got to the hospital, Nana was in a corner sipping tea and staring at the ground. She looked so small on the little couch which enveloped her. It was an honour to sit next to her and hold her hand as Mum crouched and repeated words of encouragement.
Cousins trickled in and we relocated to the lounge as we regaled stories from Poppa's life and cried together. Nana shared that over the past week he had been responsive to the scripture which she was reading to him. It was incredibly reassuring. I felt like God had said to me earlier this year that I would see Poppa again on Earth and in Heaven, that he was doing a work in Poppa's heart and I needn't be so worried.
I know God kept his promise. He's never let me down yet.
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Here's a little something that I wrote for the funeral:
I have many fond memories of my sawdust-scented Poppa. I'd climb up onto the orange stool in his workshop to watch him sanding and sawing whatever project he had on the go at the time. Sometimes he even let me have a turn (with his careful guidance, of course).
As a kid I was fascinated by his green thumb. His tomato, bean, carrot, and silverbeet patches were always overflowing. I lacked his relentless patience though, so I decided on radishes as my debut gardening effort because he informed me they would only take 6 weeks. He actually ended up doing most of the work but he let me believe I was a gardening prodigy. When it was finally time to harvest them I was incredibly disappointed that radishes didn't taste all that delicious. He suffered through them with me.
Saying goodbye to Poppa before I left for Korea last year was possibly the hardest thing I've ever done. The uncertainty of whether or not I would see him again, at times made it almost unbearable to be away from home. Thankfully, in those moments I could turn to prayer and God reassured me that I would see my beloved Pops again both in this world and in the next. His peace surrounded and sustained me. I know Poppa is now in a place free from suffering or pain, which is something he hadn't experienced for a long time.
I just can't wait till I can give him a big hug and hear him say, "Hello Kates!" in a way that made me feel so loved. In the meantime I can remember him by his cheeky grin and the way his eyes lit up when he told a story from his mischievous youth, his gentle caring nature and the way he would selflessly help with any project that we asked him about, his fiery garlic bread and the way he ate dinner in his chair every night, his knowledge of every subject under the sun and his ever-ready listening ear.
I'll miss him more than I dare to think about. Love you, Pops.
Beautiful Katie.
ReplyDeletexx Amy R