One memory will be forever etched in my soul.
Grandpa was alternating between restlessness and deep sleep all night. He seemed "out of it," for lack of a better phrase. His speech was slurred, and he seemed to be fairly unaware. . . yet there were moments when his perfect awareness shone through. The only thing I can compare it to are the exhausted naps I have taken during movies with my toddlers - part of my brain can be snoozing while another part is on high alert, listening for any sign of toddler naughtiness, which could result in danger. Grandpa knew everything that was happening around him; he was just too exhausted to respond most of the time.
I had set my alarm all night, drifting in and out of a light sleep, but waking about every hour to give Grandpa medication. My dad, who had not slept soundly in days, snored in a nearby bedroom. My mom, who had slept far less, dozed in a chair right next to her daddy, touching his hand or arm every moment. Hymns played constantly. As dawn approached, I fell soundly asleep in a recliner, positioned close to them both.
I awakened slowly. I was aware of quiet movement. Grandpa's mumbling. And then my mom's quiet voice joining his. With my own eyes closed, I listened. . . eavesdropping on one of the most beautiful moments of my life.
"Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever.
Amen."
I lay there with my own eyes closed, soaking it in and savoring the beauty. The faith. The heritage. The blessing. Silently begging God for His mercy and presence during these last moments with my grandpa. Receiving His grace.
I climbed out of my chair shortly after, made coffee, and tried to be as "normal" as possible. (How can you be "normal" at times like this? And yet "normal" is just what everyone craves.) But my momma knew I had witnessed their moment. Momma's always know, even when you are 41 and a momma and grandma yourself, your momma knows. She squeezed me and whispered, "Did you hear him praying?" And we blinked back thankful, brokenhearted tears together for a moment before going on to reposition him . . . or something of the sort.
Less than a week later, at my Grandpa's prayer service, my brave, kind, and ever-so-wise momma shared some wisdom her daddy had passed onto her. Grandpa had confided that for many, many years he had asked God to protect his children and keep them safe. Then one sad, sad year his youngest son, my Uncle Robert, died of melanoma. In his grief, Grandpa learned a new way to pray for his children. It went like this "Your kingdom come, Lord. Your will be done."
And that was, perhaps, the very last prayer he uttered. With his firstborn daughter at his side, and his firstborn granddaughter eavesdropping.
I share this today because I do not want to forget. I don't want to forget the wisdom. I do not want to forget the blessing. I do not want to forget the peace that hovered over that room in those moments.
May his wisdom linger always, like a thick fog, over many, many generations. May our prayer be his prayer. The prayer Jesus taught us.
Oh, Grandpa. Thank you. You did not "preach" to me often, but this lesson will linger always. It was just what I needed to hear as I learn to launch my "babies" into the world of adulting. And as I learn to "adult" without your home to run to when I am weary.
This beautiful song plays often on my radio and further cements Grandpa's lesson. I adore it, and the beautiful reminder.
