Me with my Grandpa Lee Taylor after I came home from the hospital.
"The pain never really goes away, but it does get better."
I remember a co-worker encouraging me with these words after my Grandpa Taylor died over three years ago. At the time, the idea of anything ever feeling "better" seemed impossible, yet I clung to that thought. It wasn't extremely profound or eloquent but it gave me hope.
Hope that the aching in my heart would lessen.
Hope that I could think back on my Grandpa without feeling nauseous because he was gone.
Hope that the memories of his last breathes wouldn't haunt me on a daily basis. I needed to cling onto that idea that "it does get better."
Yesterday would have been my Grandpa Taylor's 92nd birthday, he would have been so excited. He really loved birthdays and getting older. He saw birthdays as a time to rejoice in years the Lord had given him; how precious it would've been to celebrate with him yesterday. I miss him; that will never change. As the days and years pass it has become less painful. When I feel the pain becoming unbearable I think of the things I know: he is with the Lord and his prayers are still with me. He told me so many times that he had prayed for each phase of my life, that the Lord would guide me through it all. So when I miss him I think on these things and it almost, just almost, makes me feel like he is here with me. It gives me a sense of comfort.
Yes, it does get better, but it will always hurt. Do I really ever want it to stop hurting and fade away? I don't think so. I don't want to get to the point of feeling comfortable. The pain reminds me of how much I loved him and how much he loved me. If I didn't feel this hurt maybe I would be prone to forget, not think back on the Grandfather I loved. Maybe, just maybe, the grief that never goes away is simply a memorial on our hearts to the ones we have lost. When I see the pain that lingers in this light it seems beautiful and almost, just almost, welcomed.
