Today marks the two year anniversary of my lovely Grandpa Gary returning to our Father in Heaven. I remember the ending of his life like it was yesterday; those far-too-short two months when we began to realize his journey here on Earth was almost through.
I remember the call we got, leaving Mexico after Christmas, informing my unsuspecting family that he was diagnosed with cancer. They didn't know where it came from, how long it had been fighting his body, or how they were going to help it; they just knew he had it, that they would try to fix it, and that we should trust everything would be okay.
This time was extremely difficult. Some days I wondered how we were still moving, still trudging on. Our best friend was leaving us, which would never be okay. Yes, those two months were some of the most difficult in my life; but when I look back, I don't think of the chemotherapy sessions, nauseousness, pain medications, constant negative information, or clumps of hair in his hand. No. I think of the man at the top of this page; the one soaking up the sun in a little town in France, the one who never gave up, the man who loved people and loved life.
My Grandpa Gary was an amazing man; a man with a quiet disposition and a pure heart. He loved Santa Cruz, and I can still recall vividly him lying on the beach for hours despite the cold wind and his attire. I think back to our times on the Santa Cruz roller coaster, slipping down the highest water slides in Idaho, the millions of RMP notepads he let me stash in my desk because I was going to become a businesswoman. He played water soccer with the grandkids in the backyard pool, grilled hamburgers in--and only in--his Hawaiian button-up, and yelled at the TV when the referees made a bad call. He was true to his faith, at all times, in all things, and in all places. No matter what. He would never, ever deny what he knew. He stood as firm as a rock. He fought with everything he had; until he closed his eyes and took his final breath, he never ceased his fight. Cancer may have taken him away from us, but oh, did he beat cancer.
I hate cancer with all my heart, but it can't erase those last two, sweet months. It can't erase the time he put his arm around me and told me I was perfect, it can't make me forget holding his hand and his silent, gripping promise that he would be at my wedding no matter what, it can't take away the sweet, precious moments I had with my wonderful and loving grandfather. Cancer took his life, cancer couldn't take away his spirit.
Today is not a bitter day. It's a day that once again proves to me that God is real, and that he is loving. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will be with my sweet Grandpa Gary again. I know he's up there, I know he loves us, and I know our family is eternal. He will be at my wedding because he promised he would be. I feel him with us, I feel him with me. I think of the hand squeezing, the silly, low-voiced "I love Brittani, she's a nice little girl" and know that my Grandpa is up there, and that he'll hug me when my time is finished, too.
"And should we die, before our journey's through, happy day, all is well."
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