On this particular Thursday, my day set aside to write, all I can think about is my Grandpa.

He passed away two days ago.

I woke up at 3am yesterday, wishing it was all a dream. Reality sunk in, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. So I searched through photos on my phone for his familiar face.

Death always seems sudden and unexpected for those of us left behind, no matter how long we try to prepare ourselves for it.

I’m processing through the grief with pictures, music, writing, and saved voicemails. I’m remembering any memory I can of the precious time I spent with my Gramps.

Gramps was a true family man. He worked hard to provide for his family and keep them together.

He also had a great hat collection.

He always looked for ways to bless me. He’d pay me $20 to “help” him change the oil in his little blue truck… I’m pretty sure I just moved a bucket for him. But we were together, and those times were priceless.

My sister and I got to crush cans in their basement for them, and then he’d drive us to the collection place and let us keep some (or maybe all) of the money.

He’d have me over before Christmas to wrap Grandma’s presents for him, and then pay me a lavish amount for my time and effort.

He created ways to be generous, and it filled my little heart right up.

My sisters and I spent a lot of time at our Grandparent’s house.

Gramps let us play in his basement with his science and math books, and his old-fashioned calculator with the paper roll. A few years ago he sent a couple of these notepads for my kids to play with; I didn’t tell him that I kept one for myself.

And I still have my tattered copy of “Clifford, We Love You”… it was a childhood favorite, a reminder of Grandpa’s name.

One time on an overnight stay, I fainted in their kitchen. I think I was waiting for breakfast. I was sitting in a chair, and my forehead went right smack on the table. Gramps scooped me up and as I woke up I remember him carrying me down the hall to their bed. Grandma was on his heels with a cold washcloth for my pale face.

On another occasion he helped me build a small truck out of wood in his garage. We painted it blue. The wheels even turned. I was so proud of that truck we built together.

He always made time for us. He never made me feel rushed, and he was never in a hurry.

 

He always had time for a visit, and a story or two (or ten). He was one of the best storytellers, recalling events and details from decades ago like they just happened yesterday. He was a deep well of wisdom and knowledge.

He was the master at carving the Thanksgiving turkey…

… and he helped the great-grandkids count out their Easter egg coins.

Grandma and Grandpa were always up for some long-distance trick-or-treaters on Halloween…

… and then there was that Christmas tradition. Gramps was Santa, and I got to be his elf. For years I helped him pass out all the Christmas gifts to our extended family. It was my favorite part of the day. And then I got to pass the baton to my kids, and they became his eager helpers.

My family of 6 have moved many times, but throughout my adult life we’ve still been able to spend countless birthdays, weddings and holidays with my grandparents.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m grateful that they hosted a going-away party for our family before we moved across the country two years ago; I mourn that my husband and kids didn’t get to visit him one last time.

But I am forever grateful that I was able to visit him last September, though I wish I had spent more time in his presence before saying good-bye.

My older daughter clings to pictures of special moments with him; I’m a little in awe of how many times we were able to sneak a quick pic of their interactions together. Always giggling.

 

 

Be still my heart.

Gramps had the best smile. He didn’t always show it in pictures; but in real life it was genuine. For posed pictures he’d sometimes keep a straight face, or even look a little mad, but deep down his heart was full of joy when he was surrounded by his family. Someone told me once that I smile with my eyes; I think this is one of the beautiful things I inherited from my Grandpa. He smiled with his eyes, too.

And then there’s his beloved wife. He loved my Grandma so well, overflowing with grace and patience, always full of love, keeping her best interest at heart.

 

Clifford Rice was the greatest Gramps a girl could ask for. It was an honor to be one of his granddaughters. He will forever hold a special place in my heart.

❤

I’ve been reflecting on a blog from last December (Life After Loss), and listening to a few songs, including these:

• Come As You Are by Crowder (I caught myself singing a line from this song yesterday and had to google to see what it was from… “Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal”)
• Loved by Fresh Life Worship
• Rescue by Lauren Daigle
• Lay It All Down by Will Reagan & United Pursuit