In Rememberance

In some ways it really is a small world, but when your family is thousands of kilometers away and something sad happens, the world seems achingly huge. My grandfather died this weekend.

He was diagnosed with cancer a year and a half ago but went into remission and had been doing better. Recently he had started getting worse again, with a series of infections and having a lot of pain in his back. The cancer was back. He was admitted into hospice only about a week ago, and this weekend he passed away. We celebrated my Dad’s 60^th birthday the last weekend I was home in Canada, and my grandpa was well enough to come. It was cold and rainy so he sat inside near the patio door with a blanket and held court while people came to visit with him. It was a really good day.

My sister sent me a text message today at 4am (I don’t think she was thinking about the time difference, or that I use my phone as an alarm) telling me that she is going to say something at the funeral on Wednesday, and was there anything I wanted her to say on my behalf.

So, I've been thinking about him, and about what I would say if I were there. I'm really not sure. I've been thinking about how I'm glad I got to go visit with him after my dentist appointment in June. My dentist is in the same small town where he lived. I also think about when I hugged him goodbye at dad's birthday party. He held on longer and squeezed tighter than normal. I told him I would come see him when I was home in September.

I've also been thinking a lot about his hands. I remember as a kid thinking he had big, strong hands. He had an electrician's hands; a carpenter's hands; a gardener's hands. I have memories of holding his hand as a child. I remember taking his hand at my Aunt Rhonda's funeral. I think about how he squeezed my hand tight when he arrived at dad's birthday party just before I left to come here to Burundi.

I don't know what I would say if I were able to be there. I've been thinking about how much he loved, how much he was loved. And I've been thinking about how full of joy he must be right now, in heaven with Grandma and Beulah and Aunt Rhonda. With Jesus, where there is no more pain and no more cancer, where his hands are once again strong and he is whole. And as I think about that, I am still sad, but I am also comforted and at peace.

Because cancer has not won, death is not the victor. Love has won, through the blood of Christ. Jesus is the victor. So while he will be missed, he is not lost. He is safe in the arms of our Saviour, held in the hands of another Carpenter. And although I am another world away and can’t be with my family, I am also safe and at peace in the arms of my Saviour. All of a sudden the size of the world does not seem to matter as much as the size of my God and the strength of his arms.