Frank Smathers

Early this morning, my grandpa died. I told Jenna that it feels like anything could happen right now, like everything is completely out of my control and in any moment everything could shift.

“Brenna, that’s always true,” she answered.

“I know. But it actually feels like that right now.”

I knew that he had passed as soon as I got the voicemail from my mom this morning saying I needed to call. He died at home. My mom was with him in the final moment.

He’s been ready to go for awhile now. My uncle died last year. A month later, my grandma died. His weekly bowling group, turned lunch group with close friends, shrank dramatically in the last few years. He watched his granddaughters grow into adults. He saw his own independence disappear in frightening chunks, each hospital stay robbing him of another piece, until he couldn’t lift his own legs into bed.

I would call, and he would stay on the phone for maybe thirty seconds. Still, he loved to hear my voice, and would tell all the nurses that his granddaughter had called from El Salvador. He was thrilled when Matt and I got engaged.

A few days ago, I emailed him a few lines telling him I was praying for him, and that I loved him. I guess that was my goodbye. I could wish for a million more things. That I could’ve seen him one more time. That I could’ve danced with him at my wedding. That I could’ve told him in person what a good grandpa he was, and how much respect I have for him. But somehow, right now, that simple email feels like a blessing enough.

Grandpa, me, Molly, Kelly, Grandma

“God is our refuge and strength,

a very present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear though the

earth gives way,

though the mountains  be moved into

the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam,

though the mountains tremble at

its swelling.

Be still and know that I am God.”

Psalm 46:1-3, 10