Boppy

My grandpa died this weekend. He was 91, and he’d lived a long life and come through a lot. But eventually you just get to the point where your body’s giving out, and things stop working. He was ready to go, if that makes any sense… it’s still hard to say goodbye to family, even if it’s only for a short time (this life is but a vapor).

I am more pragmatic about it, I admit. He was my last living grandparent, and I’ve been through this before. I’m sure that it’s not totally sunk in just yet, but I understand that death is a natural part of things. To quote Queen, “Who Wants to Live Forever?”, when there’s so much more waiting for you on the other side? I suspect that if it were one of my parents, I would be an absolute wreck. Death is an odd thing, especially when you’re trying to explain it to a four year old, and getting him to understand that he can’t see his Boppy anymore until we all go to live with Jesus.

Some of the more interesting comments from this weekend:

Me: “Nonnor, We aren’t going to see Boppy anymore because he went to live with Jesus.”

Boy: “Maybe Jesus can come to live with Boppy instead.”