This week marks one whole year since my grandfather went home to heaven. I wrote this post right after it happened.
One year, twelve whole months.
And it still hurts just like it was yesterday.
I can't make my heart understand that heaven is the goal, heaven is home, that Papa is finally there with his Savior.
I'll confess that I'm still a little angry with God for taking him away from me.
I've never lost someone this close to me, so please. Tell me.
When does it get easier?
A year later, and it isn't any easier than it used to be. I keep wondering when that sudden, crippling pain will cease to grab hold of my heart, that pain which only lets up once I have sat down and had a good cry.
I want be able to rejoice in the knowledge that I'll see him again. I want to be at peace, and not be selfish.
But all I do is miss him, and all I want is to have him back.
It's been a year, and this wound on my heart hasn't healed at all.