Donald Gregory Martin, my maternal grandfather, will likely die this week. Pass away into the arms of the Maker. He's been sleeping peacefully all day, although his breathing has been heavy. And, it's comforting to know that he's in a better position than the rest of us...so close to heaven. Ah, the peace that passes understanding.
On Saturday, we listened to some Frank Sinatra, Chet Baker and Dean Martin together. He was awake, but couldn't really talk. I didn't have "Summer Winds" on my iPod, which my Uncle Dave informed me is his favorite. But we still got in several great songs. Grandpa was a dancer, and I suspect he wanted to jump out of his nursing home bed for a spin.
I've visited him several times over the past couple of weeks. For the most part, many things have been consistent. He can barely speak. He's mostly sleeping. He may not be completely aware of what's going on. But you can see in his eyes that he's happy -- and perhaps somewhat sad -- to see you. And his hands can still squeeze as though he were gripping a golf club ready to drive the ball down the fairway. There's still strength in those hands, even as his body wastes away. He can't say it beyond a whisper, if at all, but the squeeze tells you he loves you.
A man of faith. He was studying Galatians this past year. Something he'd done so many times before. Undoubtedly, still working to comprehend the magnitude of God's grace and our salvation.
I asked him about heaven on our way back from Ohio over Memorial Day Weekend. He said it was strange not knowing what it would feel like transitioning from the current- to the after-life. Not knowing how that works, but having the faith that it does all the same.
Some of my earliest memories of Grandpa were in the yard at my parents house...him teaching me the finer points of how to play first base. I suspect my first base mechanics have stood the test of time although my baseball career ended at 12.
I miss him.
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