Pop-Pop loved music. He would always have it playing when you dropped in to see them. Not just for Christmas and special occasions, always, always. He just loved it. I made a CD for his and my Nana's 60th wedding anniversary with two songs on it, "Too Young" and "Grow Old With Me". He loved it and I thought he was just being nice. No, he would ask me every once in a while to sing it, but I always felt dumb just breaking into my rendition and singing to him. So, he would start, I would sing a few notes, and then he would go on. He had a very nice voice too, so it was nice to hear just him. I remember when he began to no longer like music. Not that he didn't like it at all, but it began to annoy him at times. One time when we visited him in the Alzheimer unit after an episode we took him into a music room. We started to play a classical record. He said to turn off the racket or garbage, some term that made us know it was not enjoyable. It hurt to know that the disease was taking parts of him away. Some time later when he was well enough to be in a wheelchair and out of his room, I went to visit him. It was a rare time that I was the only one there with him. My Nana is the unsung hero in all of this, I will have to write more on her later because volumes could be written on her faithfulness to her husband. I was sitting with him and conversation was not the easiest. He had protective mittens on his hands. He was a fiddler. He was a machinist by trade and that desire to work with his hands, fiddle something until it was fixed never left him. So, for his protection with IVs and all, he had mittens. One of the hardest things I've ever done was sit next to my Pop-Pop and answer his plea to "Take these things off" with "I wish I could, but I can't." He was a very people wise man even in his disease and he said "Yes you can!" I didn't know what to do, so I started to hum, more for my sanity than his. He got quiet and said, "Hey, bring some of that over here." I said, "What?" "Whatever it is that you are doing", was his reply. He had a funny way of speaking that just made me laugh. I was grateful for the snippets of my grandfather that I was able to see every now and then. During his illness and when we knew the end was near and hospice was helping him be as comfortable as possible I kept hearing the song "Be Unto Your Name". The words just hit me so hard each time.
We are a moment, you are forever. Lord of the ages, God before time. We are a vapor, you are eternal, Love everlasting, reigning on high. Holy Holy Lord God almighty, worthy is the
Lamb who was slain, Highest Praises Honor and Glory be unto Your Name. We are the broken, You are the Healer. Jesus Redeemer, Mighty to save. You are the love song we'll sing forever, bowing before You, blessing Your name. Holy Holy Lord God almighty, Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, Highest Praises Honor and Glory Be unto Your name.
When I think about being in Heaven and singing praise to the Lord, I cannot help but be aware of the limits of my language to describe such a wonderful and truly beautiful thing. And this is just imagining it. I would here this song and think, only a little longer until Pop-Pop will be there and sing this for his King. It was not easy to sing that song in church, even in the car. I wanted him to go Home and yet, I wanted him here. Each time we left him, we didn't know if it would be the last.
I am so glad that the last thing I said to him was "I'm glad you will get to meet Jesus soon." Though I was sad he had passed away, I knew he was Home. He is now complete and fully well. My sister Michelle and I sang "Be Unto Your Name" at the funeral. It was one of the most surreal experiences. I kept thinking about Pop-Pop singing along with us. How he was able to sing, just any song, but praises to the King and without end. That song is still difficult to hear. It was played in church not too long after the funeral, and again at my cousin Jason's commissioning service. I couldn't sing the whole thing. That is okay, I will someday. I thought of that song last night. I thought of how I don't listen to it much anymore and what shame it is . Then I really felt selfish, really selfish because I still find myself wanting him back here. And not just him, my Nana and Pop-Pop Musselman too. They died when I was so young and I've often felt like I didn't get enough time with them. But then I thought, they are singing praises too. They are Home. Why would I want them for one second to be back here. What is so great about here that could ever in a million years compare to where they are? And so I am trying no longer to think that I'm missing out on them. Or that they are missing out on things here. And is in normal to wish that they could all know my nieces and nephews and me as an adult. But I'll see them again. I'll be with them at the wedding of the church to The Lamb. And so tomorrow as I walk, I will be thinking of my Pop-Pop. And also of my other grandparents. But, I think it will be more of fondness, not sadness. I want to walk thinking of them being happy. My family will be with me too and that will make it nice to have young children as a distraction from melancholy thoughts. I don't know why Alzheimer's has to be something in this life. It truly is a terrible thing. So is stroke, heart disease, cancer, and any myriad of other calamities and ailments that strike these things we call bodies. I'm just glad to know that is only for a moment. Only for a time. And though we always want healing of the physical body. The ultimate is the healing of the spirit. I'm so thankful for the Christian heritage I have. For being told about the redeeming work of Jesus on the cross and trusting Him for my own salvation. So while it is easy to ask "Why me" when something terrible happens. It is humbling to think that in spite of me, He has given me the gift of eternal life.
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