Lesson Learned

So, I am taking a cue from my fab friend, Jessi (Notes From a Scattered Mind), and starting a weekly post. I feel like life is a journey and if you aren't learning something then you aren't paying attention.

I realized last week that my world operates on a "black and white" color wheel and that "gray" is my least favorite color. Gray scares me because it seems to have no boundaries. It comes in and colors everything that you can't define or comprehend.

Last Friday, I got the phone call that rocked my world. My mother called to say that my 81 year old grandfather, whom ,for reasons I won't go into, I was not very close to, shot and killed himself. He had been in pain for some time and decided that he was done.

I knew my grandfather my entire life, but didn't know him at all. That doesn't make sense, but it is what it is. We had nothing in common and he lived a life that I couldn't understand. Still, I know that he cared about me and in my own way, I cared very deeply for him.

Because of our luke-warm relationship, I imagined that when he passed I would be sad, but I could handle it. Life is a cycle and his would come to an end. He had lived a long life and every minute of it was spent on his terms, no one else's. So sad, yes, but tragic, no.

When I arrived at his house that day, I was overwhelmed by the reality of what had happened.

Months ago, he had come to me and told me that he was willing to help me with my first venture into politics. He would support me and tell all of his friends. He was very well-known and would have had a lot of influence. But his health was failing him and he was unable to do much to help. But, I was just so touched by the offer that it didn't matter that he couldn't follow through.

On a side note, the whole election thing was an enormous emotional and spiritual struggle for me where I doubted my intentions and God's plan for me. At one point, I convinced myself that perhaps the reason God wanted me to run was that it gave my grandfather and myself a common goal. Something we never had before. But I always believe that it is more than that. My purpose of teaming with him had to be greater than just some stupid election. I was there to be a witness for God. To plant that seed and pray that it grew. My husband went and spoke to him once while he was in the hospital and it didn't go well. He wouldn't hear of anything dealing with his salvation. "Just cremate me and forget it," he had told my mom. So, after such a reaction we stopped trying, but didn't stop praying.

I only saw him two more times after that. Allowing my daily life to get in the way of what was actually important- his eternal life. I know that I couldn't have made him see anything that he didn't want to, but what if I had tried just once more?

That day, at his house, I pulled up to find the police, coroner, my great-aunts and my mom. I walked toward the house believing that I was strong enough to handle all of what was happening, but the closer I got the harder it was to breathe. I lost control and cried for the better part of an hour.

Even now, I wonder what I grieved. So much to be sorry for. Sorry that I didn't visit him more. Sorry that I didn't try a little harder to get close. Sorry that he wasn't the man I had needed him to be all of my life. Sorry that I wasn't the granddaughter he always wanted. Sorry that our family has a tear in the fabric that has grown larger every day since my grandmother died. Sorry...that I couldn't see the forest for the trees. I love God very much and I work hard to put him first in everything that I do. Sometimes I can't see the soul for the sin. The sin is right there in my face threatening to touch my life somehow so I turn away and I don't know how to deal with the person that just needs me to show them love and understanding. It is something that I struggle with every day. How is it that this man was adored by so many, except me?

If he had died of natural causes, I may have been able to get it together and move on more easily, but the fact that he decided when it was all over is hard for me to understand. The realization that he may be burning in hell is more than I can bear at times. What bothers me the most is the wondering of what his last moments were like. Did he cry out to God? Did he think about past regrets or what he wished we knew? Or didn't he regret anything he had every said or done to those that he "loved"?

Sadly, I'll never know. And for the first time in my life, I have found something that I really don't know how to pray for. Just for peace, I guess. God knows my heart even if I can't express it. I am getting better about accepting the situation with each day, but it will probably always be in the back of my mind. Wondering about what could or should have been.

P.S. When we were going through his belongings that day, we found a Certificate of Baptism. He promised to live his life for the Lord when he was 16 years old. Though I never witnessed any kind of relationship he may have had with God, it gives me hope that maybe he found it for a few minutes just before he was gone.