Bittersweet

Sorry for the absence, friends. My computer died a couple weeks ago. Sad, I know. I feel completely cut off from the world. But sometimes, that's not such a bad thing.

But here's what's been weighing on my mind and heart the most lately.

Weekend before last, I was blessed to make a trip to Texas with my dad, to see my Papa for his big 80th Birthday Bash. It was a real blessing.

This past Wednesday, at about 6:30pm, my Papa finished his battle with cancer, and went home to Jesus.

So we all trekked back to Texas for the funeral, which was Saturday. It was nice, a real celebration of his life.

But it's still difficult. I was Papa's girl. I've never had anyone in my life die who I've been this close to.

He was one of those people who seems invincible. A person who, even when you're older and you realize that death in an inevitabiliy, you'd swear they'll live forever. Untouchable.

So it's been really hard to watch his decline the past two years. It was also difficult to pray so hard for God to restore my grandfather (because I knew He could), that tears were streaming down my face, only to see the cancer steal more of him away.

Yesterday was hard. Yesterday me, my Dad, and my Stepmom stopped in Springfield to see my sister, and her new baby girl. My nephew, who's 5, calls my dad "Papa."

And it hit me that now my Dad is now Papa. He is to Matthew and Lily what my Papa was to me. And he's going to be great. He's going to seem larger than life, invincible, untouchable. Just like my Papa was.

I know that I'll always know how this hurt feels. And I know it'll creep up on me at unexpected moments. And I know that eventually, with time the details will fade.

I won't remember which gray skirt and cardigan I was wearing every time I put them on.
I won't remember precisely which pearl earrings and necklace I had on.
I won't remember that the people in the car with me on the way there were my Aunt, Uncle, cousin, and our good friend Ren.
I won't remember what the flower arrangements looked like.

I know I'm suppsed to cry, supposed to feel something, anything. Sadness at his absence. Joy at him going home to heaven. Anything. But just don't want to. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep.

Please Pray

Let me preface this entry by saying that
I believe in prayer.

I believe that God responds to our prayers,
even if it's in ways we don't expect.
I believe that praying for healing for someone
matters,
that God heals afflictions,
even now.

God's power is real.

Now,
a couple weeks ago I blogged about my grandfather,
my "papa" here.

For the past two years, he's been pretty okay.
I mean,
as "okay" as you can be with a cancer diagnosis.
But it's been pretty non-aggressive, hasn't been spreading.

Until now.

My dad just told me this morning
that Papa's CAT scans revealed that
it HAS been spreading.

And he starts chemotherapy next week.

I've been
praying
and praying
and praying
and praying

that God heals him,
because I know he can.

I want my Papa back.
I hated seeing him so tired and frail and fragile.

To clarify,
I'm not angry with God.

I know that sometimes these things just happen.
Bad stuff happens to good people,
and there's nothing we can do about it.

Maybe I was praying for the wrong thing.
But I can't figure out what else I
should
have been praying for.

But now my heart is breaking
all over again,
the way it did when I got back from Texas.

Now I'm just praying he makes it through chemo.

Head Knowledge and Heart Knowledge

At the beginning of January, I flew down to Texas to visit my grandparents, my dad's parents. (My dad has a blog, too. You can see it here.)

Let me preface. My grandfather, my Papa, is sick. He has carcinoid tumors in his liver. They're not spreading anywhere. The biggest effect it has on him is that it makes him anemic, weak, and easily tired. He also can't eat things that he used to, which is a bummer.

Before I visited last month, the last time I'd seen him was more than a year ago, at my college graduation. My dad told me to prepare myself, that he wouldn't look the same.

And I did that. I tried to tell myself that it had been a year, a tough year. He'd been hospitalized a couple of times.

But what I saw at the airport shocked me, I'll be honest. He looked so pale, so thin and fragile. I had to consciously stop the look of shock I felt creeping across my face, and I'm not entirely sure I succeeded.

A couple of weeks prior, I talked to him on the phone, and I asked him how he was doing. I'd asked him this question before, (obviously!) and the normal answer is something generic like "I'm doing okay." You know, the thing you tell people when you either don't want to tell the truth, or you don't have anything else to say.

This time his answer was, "I'm not well."

I'm not well.

He's the type of person who's been strong for his family, a provider, etc. And I'm his granddaughter. He'd never been weak for me. Ever. And here he was on the phone. . . I'm not well.

I know this is the normal process of life. We grow old, our bodies break down. My head knows this. And my head knows that he'll go home to heaven.

But my heart doesn't know this. My heart is breaking. My heart is breaking because I don't have any idea when I'll see him again, any idea of how long it'll be before. . . It's breaking because I miss him already, because of how much I know it'll hurt later.

And despite how much I tell myself the above logical statements, the pain of the unknown will still stay with me. And most of the time, I try not to think about it. It's easier that way. But every once in a while, at the most inconspicuous parts of the day, like when I was putting a bagel in the toaster this morning, it hits me, it pierces my heart and I can't help but tear up.

This seems to happen to me a lot. My head knows something that it can't make my heart understand. And my heart breaks anyway.