Ten Years
How many years would have been enough?
Ten years is a long time, a complete decade. Think of all things someone can do in ten years. All the places you could travel, the languages you could learn. The house you could save for, the family you could build. The career that could take off, the prayers that could be answered. Ten years is a long time.
For me, ten years will never be enough time.
Ten years ago, I met my wonderful husband and the family I would end up marrying into. Marriage is a blessing in a lot of ways, and one of the best blessings for me has been the family I married into. Ten years ago, I met my husband’s grandpa. The very man who became my own grandpa in all the ways that matter. Ten years ago, I met him and over ten days ago, we lost him. Ten short, fast years that will never have been enough time.
Time is a thief in the night. Sneaking in when everyone is sleeping and taking away the days as if they never existed to begin with. Replacing hours with seconds so that when we blink, they are gone. No trace left behind.
This bonus grandpa was everything I could have prayed for. There are a lot of things I could say about him. Memories and stories I could share. Pictures I could post. Laughter I could pass along. But I want to hold all of that close to my chest. I want to relive it all for myself, afraid that sharing even a little piece of it will make those things feel less whole. Instead, I will say what I appreciated most about him and that was this:
He made everyone feel more. More loved. More joyful. More calm. More cared for. More light. More laughter. More important. Or, for me, more included. Ten years ago, I was not a part of this family, but he never made me feel that way. From the very day we met, he included me as if I was one of his own grandchildren. Included me in the memories, the stories, the pictures, the laughter. Included me in every way that mattered. When I married into the family, my relationship with him didn’t change because there was nothing to change about it. I was already included. If you’ve married into a family of any kind, you know the monumental effect this can have. So, for that, for him, I am grateful.
He loved by making those around him feel like they were even more to him than words could describe. All we wanted in return was more time. More time to hear stories untold or retold with just as much enthusiasm. More time for good meals shared together and topped off with dessert. More time for warm smiles passed across a room full of conversation. More time to make more memories.
Time is a thief in the night. Sneaking in when everyone is sleeping and taking away the days as if they never existed to begin with. Replacing hours with seconds so that when we blink, they are gone. No trace left behind.
But love is a book within our souls. Every memory, every story, every picture, every laugh, is notated within the binding of our hearts. We could choose to end the book here, close it up and file it away on the bookshelf of our hearts. Taking it down every so often to blow off the dust and look back on the moments shared. Or, we could keep the book open to a new chapter. One that I will make little notes in. Like when we go to his favorite restaurant. Or when my husband wears his old shirt. Or when I open my nightstand and pull out one of the cards that he gave me, one that I’ve always kept. In those moments, when I think of him, when I remember his love for us and our love for him, I will write in the book.
I will keep it open to include him in all the same ways he included me.
Let’s continue the conversation:
Is there someone in your own life that this reminds you of? Tell me about that person!
Do you have these books of love within your own heart? Are they kept open?
What is one was one of your grandparents made you feel loved or included?
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