The start of 2015 has been. . . .
. . . rough.
On January 10, 2015 I was getting up early to walk a 5k on the beach with my mom.
I was already awake when at 5:30am my mom was calling me.
I thought she was calling to make sure that I was awake, but when I answered the phone it wasn’t for that. She informed me and my Dr. husband that my grandfathers oxygen was very low and he was having difficulty breathing.
We got on the phone with my grandmother who didn’t know if she should bring him to the hospital or not. After a few phone calls back and forth she called back panicking. Saying that she had called an ambulance because my grandfather, my Poppy, had passed out in a chair.
Rob stayed on the phone with her as the paramedics arrived and started to perform CPR, stating that his heart was not beating and he was not breathing.
The longest minutes of my life were those next few minutes.
Rob stayed on the phone with her as I sat on our bed crying and begging God to not let it be the end of my grandfathers life.
All that we kept hearing on the phone was “No pulse. . .No pulse. . . No pulse”
I couldn’t tell you how many minutes it was that we sat there like that. I remember calling my mother and telling her hysterically what was going on and her screaming “NO!!” into the phone.
I remember calling my sister who lives minutes away from my grandparents and telling her to get to their house as fast as possible and she hung up with no further questions asked.
I remember her arriving at the house as Rob could hear her voice through the phone line over the paramedics voices.
And the next thing that I remember is throwing on clothes and jumping into the car as fast as possible with my husband at the wheel crying all the way to the hospital as he held my hand trying his best to be strong for me.
The next few days I lived in that hospital with the rest of my family with relatives and friends coming in and out to visit my Poppy and spread their love on us as we waited for news, any positive news that my Poppy would come back to us.
On Tuesday January 13, we decided to let him go.
At 8:30pm that night, the doctors removed his life support.
We sat around his bedside that entire night.
My grandmother, mother, sister, brother, husband, and I.
We slept off and on, told stories of our favorite memories with him, we cried over him, and we watched the screen for signs of him leaving us.
The next morning he was still there breathing on his own and his heart beating.
More family and friends came to visit talking with us and keeping us distracted from what was actually happening before us.
I remember it was near 10:45am that next morning. Rob was studying next to me, my sister and I were reading our books, my grandmother was on the phone, and my mom was playing a game on her IPAD.
Rob tapped me on the shoulder suddenly and pointed to the screen. Poppy’s stats were low, very low. His heartbeat was slowing down and his breathing had lessened.
I got my families attention and we all jumped to Poppy holding his hand, rubbing his head, and whispering through our tears how much we loved him.
And just like that he was gone.
Silently, and in the most peaceful way possible he left us and we knew without a doubt in our minds where he was.
It was just like Poppy to go the way that he did. Silently. Waiting for everyone to be busy with something else and then sneaking away like only Poppy could. It was him.
The next hours were full of sadness. We sat around him holding onto him, as if we didn’t want to let him go.
I cried a lot
. . . and my husband held me and cried a long with me.
My grandfather was gone.
In all honesty he had been gone on Saturday morning in our minds.
While we held out for hope all week, we knew that on Saturday morning when his heart stopped beating he was already there.
He was there walking the streets of gold.
He was praising the Lord and hugging all of his loved ones that he hadn’t seen in so long.
He was happy, he was joyful, and because of that I know that there may be sadness at the loss of my Poppy, but there is joy.
So. Much. Joy.
Joy in knowing that he is with his Savior happy, with a pain-free body.
He is Home, where he belongs, where he was always meant to be.
My Poppy was not afraid to die.
My Poppy was ready to go home. He was more than ready to be with his Lord.
I have no doubt that when he entered those pearly gates Jesus’ first words were
“Well Done, Good and Faithful Servant. Well Done.”