Unyielding as the Grave

Two years ago today, my grandfather was dying.

There at the house I sat on the love seat and stared at the hospital bed that had replaced Grandaddy's recliner. Grandaddy would fall asleep and wake back up, over and over to no particular rhythm, and I would try to do my homework for Advanced Intro to the New Testament. Mom and Mamaw talked on the couch, and we took turns getting things that he needed when he woke up. But there wasn't much for us to do. He hardly ate. I played my guitar for him and he fell asleep. When he was awake, he asked me to comb his hair for him.

There wasn't much for us to do.

One day Mamaw brought him a Valentine's Day dinner: a small steak and a baked potato from Tumbleweed, their favorite restaurant in town. He was pleased, ate all of it, and the family was encouraged. Our hopes had fallen with his weight, but this was different. My prayers changed in tone and I was grateful, even allowing myself a few guilty daydreams of a full recovery and a triumph over cancer.

But we knew.

Through it all I watched my grandmother take care of her husband and marveled at her strength. I didn't understand how she wasn't a complete emotional wreck, angry at God and lamenting the ruin that her once-vibrant love had become. She asked no questions about the existence of cancer, or how it could be visited on and take host in a man so beautiful. Rather she humbly, quietly, and lovingly served. Rather she stayed by his side and waited until he left.

I have never seen true "until death do us part" before, and I am only beginning to understand it. This was a love stronger than death. This was true love.

I can't believe it's been two years already