Boxes in Your Hands


It’s a nice sunny day. I spent some time working on school studies with the girls and then we got invited to the park.  We had a lot of fun.

The olders are now at a friends’ house playing while Patrice and I hang at home.

I heard the door open a few minutes ago and thought they had come home.  But instead, Patrice came running in with a box.  Apparently she is now accepting packages on my behalf.  Turns out there were two boxes.



In it I found items from my grandparents.  My dads’ parents.  My dad died almost 9 years ago, his dad died almost 3 years ago and my grandma passed away this last Christmas.

And here was the last of the things I would receive from them.  There were pictures dating back to when I was in second grade, my moms’ first Bible that she was given in 1971, news clippings about my parents and a myriad of lovely Christmas ornaments.

I am thrilled to have every bit of it.  Can’t wait to show the contents to my hubby, but again, these are the last items I will receive connected to them or my dad.  My grandparents won’t be in the house right around the corner from my dads’ grave.  They’ll be lovingly buried next to him.

And for this I mourn.

Not only am I sad my grandparents are gone, but somehow their deaths make my dad feel even more gone.

He wasn’t at my wedding, but they were.

He didn’t meet Caitlyn, but they did.

He never held Cana, but they did.

He never had pictures of Patrice, but grandma did.

They are gone.  My daddy is gone.  My heart is weighed down.

Survive til you Thrive!

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