My grandfather was fearful at times. He would forget the promises of resurrection that he held onto with his simple Methodist Christian faith. Toward the end, his eyes would fill with terror at the prospect of being alone. A week before he died, I told him that I was going home. He gripped my arm as tight as he could and informed me that he was home. I assured him that, yes, he was home, but that I needed to go home, to my house, and that [name] and [name] and [name] were staying with him. The three of them also had to assure him that only I was leaving. They were not going anywhere, and neither was he. As death approached, he forgot the power of God that sustained Elijah, Elisha, John, and Jesus, and that I believe also sustains each of us gathered here today, and that sustained my grandfather through the process of dying.
And, then, my grandfather remembered it, or, perhaps, saw it anew. I visited him a couple of days before he died, and, when I entered the room, [name] told me that I had just missed the biggest smile he had ever seen on my grandfather. My grandfather had opened his eyes, looked up at the ceiling, and smiled at something only he saw. I will entertain that he had a glimpse of the glory of God, even as he lay there dying.
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It is difficult for me to escape the sadness that surrounds the death of my grandfather. It is difficult for me to feel God's presence in the midst of mourning, even as I know it is there, it is here, somewhere. I need these texts, these stories, these images of God's power and presence and love as much as anyone, because something has changed and will never be the same. With the mantle given to one generation, another mantle is passed to the generation that follows, and another to the generation that follows it. With the mantle comes responsibility, and, hopefully, a new maturity. Increase and decrease. Decrease and increase. Life and death. Death and, hopefully, new life.
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I want to end with two short pieces about my grandfather and grandmother.
They purchased their burial plot many years ago. Their coffins were to be stacked one on top of the other in the hole. The joke was that if my grandmother died first, then my grandfather had to promise that her coffin would be removed, his would be placed in the hole, and then her coffin placed on top of his. She wanted to “be on top.” I understand that her wish will be honored.
My grandparents used to go to barn dances when they were young adults. In fact, their first date was a barn dance at Butler Cove. It was also a barn dance at Butler Cove where my grandfather proposed to my grandmother. She took an entire minute to accept! Throughout the years, they continued to dance together. After my grandmother's strokes left her only able to shuffle about with help, my grandfather would take her hand a couple of times each day and they would dance around their living room to “You Are My Sunshine.” I imagine the great joy and love that they felt for one another in those moments of simple abandon and intimacy, after decades of being in each other's company.
So, I hope that after a short sleep in their grave together, upon the second coming of Christ, that they are raised up to dance together once again—renewed, restored, resurrected in the life of Christ, basking in the glory of God, with “You Are My Sunshine” playing for their dance. But, that is for an anticipated, hoped for, place and time to come.
Today, rest in peace, grandpa. This room is testament to the life that you lived and the lives that you touched. You were, and are, deeply loved. You will be remembered.
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Eulogy is by Troy's Work Table and was delivered to a full funeral home at the paternal grandfather's funeral service. The picture was taken by Troy's Work Table at the same.
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