The Grieving Process

This month has been a real whirlwind for me. I remember a phone call from my mom, saying that my 90-year-old grandfather, who lives in Victoria, Texas, had taken a nasty fall and broken his hip. Because of where the break was, he was not a candidate for surgery. The doctor said that he would, in all likelihood, not survive the procedure. Therefore, he would never walk again. All that could be done from that point was to make him as comfortable as possible. Not for the first time, I lamented the fact that I live so far away and could not be there with him. In point of fact, it had been well over 10 years since I had last seen him.

About a week after that call, I came home from church to find a message on my machine from my mom, saying that one day after having been airlifted to Little Rock to be put into hospice care, he died. I didn't have a clue how I was going to be there for the funeral, but mom insisted that I come. For me, the gesture of showing up seemed like too little, too late. I already regretted not having taken the time to visit him for so long. However, NOT showing up would have been even worse. I researched my options, I prayed about it, and I spent a total of 4 days on the road, driving to Victoria and back. I had to be there.

Donald Rexford Hecox was memorialized on June 16, with full military honors. I sat in the front pew with the rest of the pall bearers, with my oldest son, 8-year-old Austin, the only member of my family I could take with me on the trip, asleep the whole time against my shoulder. He was exhausted from the early and late driving hours, the Texas heat, and the morning spent swimming in the hotel pool. Normally, I would have poked and prodded him into staying awake during a service. That day, I let him sleep. I only woke him when it was time to get up and carry the casket.

Although the preacher had known my grandfather for 12 years, most of what he said that day sounded pretty generic to me - the standard stuff you hear at most funerals. I could even quote from memory every bit of scripture he used, as he was saying the words. Only one portion of what was said truly captured my attention. My grandfather knew Jesus as his personal savior. Praise God. He never told me. It was one of the many things I never took the time to ask him about. I had wrestled with this question for several days before finally having it answered for me. God is good, and He gives us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it.

From the moment I started my day that morning, I somehow knew I was going to sing at the funeral, although no live music was planned. The preacher was the only one who spoke the whole time. None of the music was done live. Even Taps was pre-recorded. I wish I had known; I would have brought my trumpet and played it myself. The graveside service ended in silence, with the women laying roses on top of the casket. This proved to be a challenge, due to the steady 20mph wind that was blowing. As the last rose was laid down, and as everyone slowly began to disperse, I felt the prompting of the Spirit. The first few words rang out, and everyone stopped in their tracks.

I heard an old, old story
How a Savior came from glory
How He gave His life on Calvary
To save a wretch like me

I heard about His groaning
Of His precious blood's atoning
Then I repented of my sins
And won the victory

Oh, victory in Jesus!
My savior forever
He sought me and bought me
With His redeeming blood

He loved me ere I knew Him
And all my love is due Him
He plunged me to victory
Beneath the cleansing flood

As well as I had held it together since hearing of my grandfather's death, I was surprised to find myself suddenly breaking down halfway through the first verse. Still, I was determined to get through the chorus. Tears filled my eyes as I sang of my gratitude for what God has done for me, and for all who believe.

Life has been a much more intense emotional rollercoaster since I returned to Michigan. My moods continuously swing over the entire spectrum - happy, sad, numb, angry, you name it - all within very short periods of time. I'm not angry with God; quite the contrary. I'm angry with myself, for not seizing opportunities that are now gone forever. I don't want that to happen again. I've wasted so much time pursuing all the wrong things. Just once, I'd like to get it right. May God give me the wisdom to know how, and may He give me the courage and strength to do so.

Something wonderful did come out of all this, though. After over 20 years of waiting, I was finally able to reconnect with my cousin Jeff - something I've wanted to do for a long time. Our time together wasn't nearly as long as I would have liked it to be, and I often tripped over my own words as I spoke to him. Had I known he was going to be up late talking in the hotel lobby the night before I left, I might have stayed with him. Of course, I probably would have had an accident on my way back north due to sleep deprivation, had I done so. Maybe it was a better idea to to go bed after all. Still, I sure hope I get to see him again soon.

My grandfather was one of the most honorable men I have ever known. He worked without complaining. He served unselfishly. He taught with great patience. He was firm yet always gentle. I never once heard him utter an unkind word. He always measured his words carefully. He could stop me in my tracks with just a look, yet he could always warm my heart with a hug. I'll miss him.

We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord. - 2 Corinthians 5:8

Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time: Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you. - 1 Peter 5:6-7