So I know I disappeared from BlogWorld for a few days, but hopefully you all know the reason I was missing. It wasn't because I hated you all, because I don't. It wasn't because I needed some 'me time,' because I take that anyway and sometimes 'me time' includes 'blog time.' It also wasn't because I was taking a trip to San Diego.
Oh wait. That's exactly what it was. Nevermind.
Wednesday afternoon we flew to San Diego to spend some time with family and attend my Grandpa's memorial service Friday afternoon.
The weather was glorious and I'm really ridiculously sad that we had to return to drab little Idaho and once again bask in the greatness of low temperatures and overcast skies. Also, there are no palm trees here. Which makes me cry a little on the inside because that's one thing I look forward to in California. Palm trees.
I must admit though, that it was all sorts of different to be at my grandparents' house with only one of them present. I kept expecting Gramps to come around the corner and take up residence in his big red chair, only to be disappointed when that never happened.
I caught my dad sitting in that chair once and first glance I thought it was Gramps and had to double check to make sure it wasn't. What chaos these last few days have been.
The memorial service, though, was cleansing. It held a sense of closure. A way to honor someone that so many people loved so dearly. He was a man that found his way into the hearts of almost everyone he knew. He was the kind of man that would get down on the same level as his grandchildren, to really get down into their world, and play their games.
We all had stories.
He was the kind of man that could eat a whole pint of ice cream by himself and he instilled in all of us the love of ice cream. We all talked about how that man could polish off more ice cream than a football team. Grinning the whole time.
Such fond memories we all carry.
We choose not to remember the Parkinson's. We choose not to remember the disease. We choose to remember him as loving and caring. The definition of a man living out a Godly life. The finest example of a life lived with purpose.
He was always optimistic. He never had anything bad to say. His smile could light up a room.
I felt awkward grieving by myself in Moscow. No one to share my memories with. No one who would completely and totally understand. Prince tried. But it's just not the same.
I was weepy sometimes and mad sometimes and sometimes I just wanted someone to hold me and love me and spend time with me, but sometimes Prince just couldn't. I just needed to be with my family. To share my thoughts. My feelings. To let my raw emotions show. To let the truth hang out.
The truth is that I had some guilt and some regret about not being around as much. I harbored some jealousy for the relationship that my cousins got to have with their grandparents that I never experienced because I lived so far away.
But my cousin told me that there's nothing I could do about it. I couldn't hold on to this jealousy, to this regret, to this guilt because it wouldn't do anything for me. She told me I did the best I could at the time I could with the cards that I was dealt.
And she was right.
You can't go around living in the past of should haves and could haves. You just have to live your life to the best of your ability and love those around you and love God. Because that's what you'll be remembered for.
I am blessed with the family that I have. Truly blessed. And I work hard never to forget that.