Sweet Pepa

My grandpa passed away a couple of weeks ago, and although it's a little late in coming, I don't want to miss the opportunity to remember him in my writing.  He had been battling Alzheimer's for several years and we knew he was nearing the end, so it didn't come as a total shock to our family, but we still grieved the loss of such a wonderful man.  He loved Jesus with all he had and I'm so thankful for the hope that gives us in facing death.  The hope- the certain expectancy, not just a fervent wish- that we will see him again.

It was quite an ordeal to get our little family to the funeral what with travel requests, a broken down car, and hotel shenanigans.  (I mean, the hotel story really is worthy of it's own blog, but we'll see.)  Once we made it, though, we were so glad to be there.  I could only imagine if Pepa were there to greet us and hear all we went through on the trip, he would have said, "Oh, golly!" and hugged us even tighter.

Pepa loved telling stories, and that is just about all we did once we were with the rest of our family.  Stories of the turtles in his backyard.  They would come to Pepa every morning for food, and even chomp on his toe.  He and the turtle both went flying that time.  Stories of how much he loved his wife.  Everyone knew it.  There was no question that Mema had captured his heart right from the beginning.  Stories of his faith.  He loved to sing hymns, teach Sunday School, and spoke about the Lord to everyone.  Just ask the repairman who came to Pepa's house for a job and left as a follower of Jesus.

Generally speaking, I don't have the best memory in the world.  My memories tend to be connected to a picture or sound or smell.  This has held true as I have remembered my Pepa.  I picture him in his tan coveralls that he wore all the time.  I picture him outside under his covered patio, sitting at his wrought iron table with a coffee mug.  I hear his deep voice.  It was the best true bass voice I have ever heard out of someone I knew personally.  I hear him telling the story of how he met Millie, the pretty girl his preacher encouraged him to pursue.  I smell mouthwash.  I'm sure it was only Listerine, but it was a powerful smell when he came close to kiss your cheek.  The thing I will miss the most, the thing I coveted for so many years, is hearing him in his room just before bed praying for me by name.  His deep and steady voice, speaking out loud prayers for his loved ones.  I know that sweet man with his kind and gentle heart prayed for me every day of my life until his brain would no longer allow him to do so.  And I believe with my whole heart that the Lord listened to every prayer and that my life has been blessed beyond measure, in part, because of those prayers.