I don’t really know April’s grandparents that well, and of the two sides, I know her mother’s less. Flossie was already afflicted by alzheimers when I met her, and though she was able to attend our wedding, she and I never conversed.
The general sense I have gotten from April’s family is that her passing is something of a blessing. She lived a long and happy life with lots of children and grandchildren, and the suffering caused by her disease is at an end. She is with Jesus now, and we would all agree that is a good thing.
As I thought about her and her husband last Sunday at church though, I began to choke up a bit. I can’t picture April’s grandfather in any way other than stoic–a hardened old man who doesn’t let anything bother him. I thought about seeing him at the funeral and what he would look like, how he would act, and I pictured him standing normally, accepting condolences, thanking people, but generally speaking he would be OK. He doesn’t seem like the sort who would break down in tears.
When I put myself in his place, however, it makes me weep. The thought of losing the woman with whom I spent my entire life, to whom I have been married for decades, and now being alone… it is terrifying. I met with someone after church to pray for him and for the rest of the family, because I simply cannot imagine stoicism in the face of such loneliness. It is one thing to have always been alone, but quite another to lose the one you love.
In addition, I prayed for the married men I know, that they would become strong husbands who can support their wives, and that they would be vulnerable and devout. I pray that God strengthen us so we can continually support our families better. So we can become holy like God is holy.
With every death, I think of Walter Slovotsky. I leave you with these valuable words:
When you say goodbye to a friend, assume that one of you is going to die before you ever get to see each other again. If you want to leave something unsaid, fine… but be prepared to leave it unsaid forever.