We love you, Grandpa Wil

Chris’s step-dad – the dad who raised him and the dad and grandpa the kids and I have always known – passed away peacefully yesterday afternoon.

We will miss him dearly. Chris is with his family, was with him when he passed, and they are holding strong in this very difficult time. May the peace that surpasses all understanding come to all, and most especially, to Mom -- or, as the kids know her, Grandma Robyn.

We have peace that Grandpa Wil is in a better place. He, Grandma Robyn, and his oldest son, Gary, all felt the time for him to be with God was coming very near. Grandpa Wil had always been so healthy, forever challenging that silly statistic we call an “age.” At our home in March, he took a fall and began using a walker, but – defying age as usual – he recovered as we young people do. Then in August, he took another one, and, it almost seemed, he saw that to be the sign of his own time to come to what he called “his new home.” From that point on, his decline was remarkably quick. Gary began seeing visions of “a gathering of angels” around his father. We were saddened, but given peace by these visions. He slowly stopped eating, taking medicine, and even drinking water. He asked to be given no life supporting systems and asked when God would take him to his new home. Grandma Robyn assured him God would gently take him at the special time God had for him.

Yesterday was that special time, and our gracious God did bring him home gently. For the Wilbur we love, we are so grateful he is now peaceful, happy, and fully free.

But we who are left feel a hole. Grandma Robyn says in tears, “We’ll be okay. We’ll move on. He’s happy.” Deep love sets free those we love. But deep love is very painful. Please, Lord, wrap your arms around us all and, most of all, wrap them tight around Grandma Robyn. Andrew cried pretty hard when I told him the news of Chris’s phone call yesterday. He wondered what our family gatherings would be like without Grandpa Wil. Insightfully, he said, “He’s . . . like . . . the foundation.” I nodded and said, “You’re right.” We were sitting by the Christmas tree and I looked at it and said, “Without Grandpa Wil is like the tree without the trunk.” He nodded and we both hugged and cried. Since both Andrew and I share a love for walking, we took a walk for comfort. Melanie was with her little kindergarten friends at that time, so I told her when we arrived home yesterday. Melanie’s form of therapy is different from Andrew’s and mine: she went into her room and drew the picture I posted above.

My husband has now lost two dads, and my own dad is lost in that shadowland of Alzheimer’s. So Melanie sadly said, “We don’t really have any grandpa now.” Heavenly Father, to us here on earth, You can be so intangible. But we ask today that You become real to us all, show Yourself deeply, and be our Dad, be our Grandpa. Fill us with Your Fatherly Spirit. Thank You for watching over the father here on earth that we love and for gently taking him home into Your arms. May You do the same for our other dad. May You do it for all of us. May You gently draw all of us into Your arms. Thank you, Father. Amen.