Funerals. In a way, we all attend ours; my Grandpa decided he wanted to be alive for his. No, that’s not a typo. My grandpa asked to attend, while living, his own funeral. My sweet Aunt, who has battled CFID’s for most of her life, told her dad (my Grandpa) that she didn’t think she would make it through the funeral… So through tears, she uttered her somewhat crazy request. 

“Dad, would you want to attend your funeral?” – Aunt Patricia

“Yes, I would”, was Grandpa’s quick response.

A wedding and a funeral. The two times you are most likely to be surrounded by loved ones. Both are times when far away friends make extra effort to show up. Where the family puts aside all drama (for the most part), dons their best attire -white or black- depending on which occasion it is, and gathers from your past and present to celebrate your new life.

One is marked by the symbolic white dress, the other by shadowy hues to display the heaviness of grief. Tears fall for a different reason when the wardrobe is dark.  Often, several speeches are delivered but at funerals, the object of their focus is not present to hear. 

But what if you could hear?

What if the last time you are surrounded by loved ones, the last time people you love, went out of their way to celebrate you and your life?

Not the life you might live but the life you have lived.

Where each person who spoke shared personal memories, intimate moments that revealed your character, spoke to your history and honored the time you’ve given?

In a way we all attend our funeral, our bodies present but our mind, soul and spirit not. My grandpa chose to be alive and present for his.

Sensing the last page of his story was only a few pages away, he decided he wanted to spend it with those he loved.

What a gift it was to shower him with love. To watch his face as he listened to each story. Listen to his ever-kind voice as he showered each person with affirmation.

What a gift to look him in the eye, take his hand, and say everything we loved about him. To tell him what a lasting mark he has made on us and in what ways we have been formed by our relationship. 

Formed by his love.

To know that HE KNOWS that his life has made a lasting impact.

To know that the impact he made in your life is known and all the things you wish you could say have been said.

This was the ultimate goodbye. 

The ultimate celebration of life.

The ultimate send off into the greatest eternal adventure.

It was a hard goodbye.

It was a beautiful and wonderful goodbye. Heavy tears flowing in proportion to the love present. 

The room full of sadness and equal joy.

Joy even from my Grandpa’s fading form. His ninety-four year old body was still able to laugh and connect as his mind relived the details of each shared story and forgotten memory.

His heart almost visibly filling with the repeated assurances from his daughters, grandsons, cousins, friends and this granddaughter, that the way he lived, the way he loved, changed us.

Changed his family.

Changed his home.

Changed his friends.

Changed his city.

Changed his world.

How he loved and lived. How he fathered, and grandfathered, a daily expression of the reality of Jesus in his life. How he cared for “the least of these”, the love for the one, the heartbeat behind even his chosen profession. Everything my grandpa did was highlighted in love-laced actions.

He ran his race well and went out the way he lived; peacefully confident and assured of the reality of his loving, very living, Savior: Jesus. 

Jesus, before him, preparing a place for him, eternal life ahead of him. 

This reality, more real than the illness within him.

After his celebration of life, Grandpa lived here three more days. 

Three. 

A number that reminds me of a certain tomb. Of a rolled away stone and an angelic invitation to see the vacantness of its previous inhabitants, just three days prior.

An empty tomb and victorious ending marked by three days.

Three days and life beyond the grave was forever changed.

Heaven, with God, a reality that, with his last breath, Grandpa stepped into with bold, fearless courage. Courage that only comes from an active relationship with the One who conquered death.

I know my Grandpa is now present with the Lord. That his eyes are taking in the reality of Jesus, in ways he had only dreamed. I know that the reality my grandpa lived from here, is finally realized there. And while my heart still aches to see him, hear from him, hug him, I shall run my race on the path he has forged. 

So… cheer loud Grandpa. 

Join the cloud of witnesses, beside my Dad and your true love, Grandma.  Cheer your legacy onward. Explore all of heaven with Jesus and know that the life you lived here, lives in me. Know that I am running hard on the trail you forged and that when we are reunited again it will be with the same courage and fearless joy that you left with.