Grandpa Bill

Dear friend,

I'm going to attempt to tell you about my Grandpa Bill today.

You know, during our first year at Trinity, Ashley and I knew a girl who lost a relative.  We got to thinking about how blessed we were to not know that kind of pain yet.  And we acknowledged that when it did happen, it was going to be tough.

I've grieved for others, and have had to say goodbye to people I've cared about and loved, but this is a new sting.



Forgive me,  I will get through this letter...



I don't think I'm done processing.  I think I'm still learning how I grieve.  It seems to come in bursts.  I go through my day.  I've had plenty of distractions this weekend, which I think is good...  But then, seemingly out of nowhere, my head is buried in Jered's shoulder and I sob until his shirt is drenched.  And then it's over.  Until the next time it builds up.

Um, so, back to Grandpa.  You may know that I hate public speaking.  Hate it with the burning fury of a thousand suns, or however that saying goes.  Well, when I was in the TIU band, we performed many concerts.  And especially when we were on our mission trip/tours, the concerts were peppered with student testimonies.

Now, I was in the dangerous position of good friend to the band chaplain, who had to track people down to give the testimonies.  Time after time, I refused.  No way, Megan- you are not getting me to talk in front of hundreds of people no matter how close we are.

Well, right before we went to Ukraine, Grandpa Bill was having alot of health problems.  And although throughout most of the trip, I was sticking to my anti-public speaking guns, one day, I felt this overwhelming conviction that I needed to share about Grandpa because maybe there was someone out there who was facing the same fears and that my grandpa needed prayer, even the prayers of hundreds of people he would never meet.

I'm not telling you that because I think what I did was worth mentioning, but because the response I received from people was.  Complete strangers came up to tell me, through the translators, that they would pray for my grandpa, and the outpouring of love was heart wrenching.

What did I tell them?  Well, I told them he was sick.  And I didn't know if he was a believer or not.  That he was incredibly stubborn.  And that he was one of the strongest men I knew.  And that I wanted him to claim that Jesus was his Savior.

My grandpa fought his illnesses for over three more years.  That means I got to see him three more times.  I got to talk to him on the phone the day after I got married.  I got to hear his voice, eat his cooking, hear him chuckle, hear him tell me that he thought Jered was a good guy, hear him tell me I'd always be his sweetie pie, and receive some more scruffy kisses.

And I've heard since he's been gone that he did claim to be a believer.  And I will hold on to that hope as hard as I can, and trust that God heard my prayers, along with everyone else's, and cling to the belief that I will see him again someday.

I've told you about my grandpa and our time at Mississippi before, but you're about to hear more.



Every normal trip to Mississippi involves fishing.  The following photos were taken a couple years ago over Labor Day and Grandpa's birthday weekend.

These are the fish that reside in Grandma and Grandpa's pond:  Big Mona (not pictured) has been hiding out for years.

Grandpa Bill was the one who showed me that fishing didn't have to be so gross.  Spiced and sliced hot dogs are the bait of choice most of the time.  And forget using a normal fishing pole- I much prefer a cane pole.  

Did I ever tell you about the very first fish I caught?  It was a baby catfish, and when Grandpa pulled it off my hook for me, its whiskers got him and his hand came away bloody.  I also caught eight bluegill in one day before.  Shocking, I know.  

I never got excited about ordering fish at a restaurant, but boy, did I love when my grandpa fixed our fish at the end of the day.  Between our own, freshly caught fish and the hush puppies, I was in dinner heaven.

Katie doesn't have the best luck with fishing.

Good laughs abound.

Can you see why?  Wondering where those whopper fish are?  So were we.

This would be the look of a dad who still gets called to take fish off the hook and has to untangle lots of lines.

It seems some people always get all the luck.  Lynn caught big ones all day.

Katie's luck stayed about the same.  

I normally stay safely up on the hill, laughing and listening to Grandpa give instructions to the less skilled fishermen.

Very rarely would you see this: 

And when it comes to fishing, a little rain never stopped us.

As Kiera struggled to reel in a big one...

Uncle Frank caught this guy.

And if there's a project going on?  Like the building of the new deck that Jered thinks I conned him into helping with?  Well, you can probably find us over here, by the snacks and drinks: supervising.

Even after all that fun, the real magic happens here:

You cannot go to Grandma and Grandpa's without having biscuits and gravy.

When we were quite little, I remember aside from Apache, Grandpa's horrifying German Shepherd, two cats always stayed around the house.  I think they were named Lightning and Thunder, but they kind of feel like they are a part of one of those memories that feel like a dream.

One of my favorite things growing up was going to Grandma and Grandpa's for Thanksgiving break.  We usually got to take an extra day off school, and everyone went down for an early family Christmas.  Us cousins would spend hours and hours coloring, sometimes in the camper parked in the garage for extra sleeping space while everyone was at the house.  It was also the "coolest thing ever" to be able to sit in the Jacuzzi on the deck when there was snow on the ground.

One year, Grandma and Grandpa got us bean bag chairs for Christmas.  I remember because with limited car space on the ride home, Katie and I had to ride with them on our laps, and when you're a kid, or maybe just us, it was exciting and fun to have to ride all the way home with a giant bean bag chair on your lap.

I don't mind telling you that my grandpa used to terrify me sometimes when I was little.  He could be extremely stern and gruff.  As I got older, I understood his sense of humor better, and probably stressed him out less because I was old enough to know that you don't pick up hammers right next to Grandpa's freshly installed front windows or run around the house being quite loud. 

Jered always tells me that he can tell instantly when I'm mad because my eyebrows shoot up into my forehead.  Guess who I got those from.  This guy.  He could give you a stare that would chill your bones with nervousness.

But he had a sweet spot for all of us.  I was always Aimee Lou to him.  Always.

He was resilient.  Even on our latest visit over his birthday weekend, as tired and weak as he was, he dictated a recipe for the perfect pan-seared steak for me.  Hopefully one day, I will live up to it.

I'm frustrated because no matter what I tell you, it will not do him justice.  He was a great, stubborn, strong, smart, talented man, and I've been so blessed to call him my grandpa.

The world has been left wanting, and I'm just one of many who will feel that want for a long time.

Thank you friend, for your prayers over my family.  

Aimee Lou