Time's relentless march

March 9, 2018

This week marked another year since my grandfather's passing. I remember him well. I knew him longer, and probably better, than I knew my father who died twenty-two years earlier than Pop. I remember Pop standing beside my father's casket, weeping, asking God why he took such a young man and let "this old man" live. Pop was seventy-three at the time.

I had a wonderful relationship with my grandfather. He taught me so much of the old ways, ways I see dying. I have no one interested in learning about the earth, the flowers, the bees, the woodland creatures but that doesn't negate the fact of how very blessed I am that someone cared enough to impart that knowledge to me.   

Time's relentless march has me thinking about Pop and how much he enjoyed his retirement years. It's just one more life thing he gave me subtle guidance about. He had a plan, every day. As each day brings me closer to my "retirement" years, I'm making plans, too, plans that will honor what Pop taught me. 

So for now, take a step into the Way Back Machine with me, to what I posted on a different blog the day Pop passed from this life, thirteen years ago. Will the next generation remember me and blog about my life? I doubt it. Some things one must do for one's self. 

KC Kendricks

_*_*_

March 7, 2005

Minutes to Memories

A little girl watches as a man glues square wooden frames together. The man shows a young girl how to plant a flower. A young woman gets her first car and the man smiles, pride warring with concern. Thanksgiving Day and they leave the warmth of home and family to walk along the mountain ridge in silence. Words are not needed between them.

The man, suddenly old, holds the woman’s hand as they mourn together. An old man’s face lights up with joy when the now not-so-young woman hands him a little black puppy and tells him to meet his new “grandson.”

My grandfather has left this life. He was ninety-five. I love him. Death will not change that.

His passing was not sudden, nor was it unexpected. It was blessedly peaceful. I’m saddened by it and yet I will not give in to grief. He wouldn’t want that. He told me in a thousand ways across seventeen thousand days that life was to be lived. And to live, you keep moving forward, every day.

It’s the way he lived his life. He enjoyed a retirement that spanned thirty years. He had a plan for every day of those years. Until these last few months, he had a plan for the next several years.

Did he travel the world? No. Did he have fancy cars, a big house, and a big bankroll? No. He was a “plain” man. A gentle man, and a gentleman. He lived simply. He loved deeply. He was deeply loved.  He was the best grandfather in the world.

I think I will pause these next few days. Moving forward can wait just a little while. I’ll spend some time looking back at days that turned into minutes, and minutes to memories.

Rest well, Pop.