The passing of an Era
My grandfather died at age 93. He beat the pope to the holy land by a few hours. He passed away quietly on April 2nd, 2005. He was my last remaining grandparent, and with him goes an era of my life.
His Memorial was held on May 14, 2005. I thought I had processed the passing of his life, but I found myself tearful and grieving through most of the service. It was amazing to hear stories I had not heard before. My grandfather was a master craftsman, and all around the Bellingham Baptist Church, were benches, stairways, window frames; touches of grace where he had contributed greatly to his community. At the reception following the service, I sat down next to a woman who was in a wheel chair. She said, "Your grandfather made me a bench outside where the bus stops, so that when I needed to rest, I could." If that doesn't sum up the kind of person he was, I don't know what will.
I still have my cooking utensils that he made me as a teenager, a crib that I rested in as a baby, and a painting easel that gave me access to creativity.
My grandfather's photographs of the surrounding Bellingham beauty could rival an Ansel Adams' photo. He was genuinely an artist of many ilk.
Although a devout Christian, he was never a proselytizer. In all my years, he only spoke of religion once to me, and that is when I had asked him about the Bible. He was a quiet man of faith, who practiced daily prayer. He loved my grandmother so much, that he was inconsolable when she died, three years prior to his own death.
It isn't just an era in my life in terms of life transition. Meaning, me being an adult, my parents being grandparents, and my sister having children and my friends all getting married or are married.
It is also the passing of a gentle way of being, a gentle way of loving and a delicate sense of right and wrong. The world is a crazy mess, chaotic in political turmoil and bloodshed. Yet, on my grandparents couch, I could fall asleep soundly, without a thought of what was going on in the rest of the world. It was such a blessing to have grandparents who provided sanctuary in their love and their faith, and in their simple way of being in life. Bicycling to the store, taking books to the jail, teaching bible studies, growing their own food, growing flowers taller than me.....A world without the hyperbolic crush of the modern age.
Perhaps, we all do want to return to the garden, free ourselves of acne commercials, reality shows, the Enron's of the world, the dictatorships, the anger we hold for ourselves because of the choices we make.
The little yellow house in Bellingham, that became the little grey house in Bellingham was my garden.
Where to now?
World Girl
His Memorial was held on May 14, 2005. I thought I had processed the passing of his life, but I found myself tearful and grieving through most of the service. It was amazing to hear stories I had not heard before. My grandfather was a master craftsman, and all around the Bellingham Baptist Church, were benches, stairways, window frames; touches of grace where he had contributed greatly to his community. At the reception following the service, I sat down next to a woman who was in a wheel chair. She said, "Your grandfather made me a bench outside where the bus stops, so that when I needed to rest, I could." If that doesn't sum up the kind of person he was, I don't know what will.
I still have my cooking utensils that he made me as a teenager, a crib that I rested in as a baby, and a painting easel that gave me access to creativity.
My grandfather's photographs of the surrounding Bellingham beauty could rival an Ansel Adams' photo. He was genuinely an artist of many ilk.
Although a devout Christian, he was never a proselytizer. In all my years, he only spoke of religion once to me, and that is when I had asked him about the Bible. He was a quiet man of faith, who practiced daily prayer. He loved my grandmother so much, that he was inconsolable when she died, three years prior to his own death.
It isn't just an era in my life in terms of life transition. Meaning, me being an adult, my parents being grandparents, and my sister having children and my friends all getting married or are married.
It is also the passing of a gentle way of being, a gentle way of loving and a delicate sense of right and wrong. The world is a crazy mess, chaotic in political turmoil and bloodshed. Yet, on my grandparents couch, I could fall asleep soundly, without a thought of what was going on in the rest of the world. It was such a blessing to have grandparents who provided sanctuary in their love and their faith, and in their simple way of being in life. Bicycling to the store, taking books to the jail, teaching bible studies, growing their own food, growing flowers taller than me.....A world without the hyperbolic crush of the modern age.
Perhaps, we all do want to return to the garden, free ourselves of acne commercials, reality shows, the Enron's of the world, the dictatorships, the anger we hold for ourselves because of the choices we make.
The little yellow house in Bellingham, that became the little grey house in Bellingham was my garden.
Where to now?
World Girl
posted by World Girl at 3:46 PM
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