Excerpt from From Dad
We lost Grandpa on Christmas Eve. He was a man of strength and silence. His softness bespoke greater power than any raised voice ever would. His tools were those of reason and thought and anything shaped with their wisdom hummed with the warmth of sun-polished wood.
Where other men might have railed against the unjust discovery of an inoperable brain tumor, Grandpa humbly bowed to the will of an all-knowing Father and trusted Him to do what was best.
And the Father called him home.
On the night the world celebrated the Savior’s first drawn breath, we mourned the loss of another great man. There was little time to reconnect to the joy of Christmas. So much needed to be done and in the midst of it, my parents strove to keep the spirit of the season from dispersing. The younger children had long awaited the joy of Christmas morning and my parents, though devastated, still planned to give it to them. Their sorrow was buried beneath loving duty.
I will never know what strength it took for my father to carry on, preparing a world of magic and wonder when his own had been swallowed beneath a mantle of loss. I imagine that many quiet tears were shed and that his heart was burdened with the unsaid. Somehow, he did what he had to do.
Morning came, our front room littered with Santa’s gifts in bright red, green, and white. Stockings brimmed with treats and essentials: toothbrushes, lotions, and a traditional orange. Not a single thing had been forgotten, despite the tragedy that befell our family.
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