Holes in the Floor of Heaven

How I cried when the sky let go
with a cold and lonesome rain
Momma smiled said don’t be sad child
Grandma’s watchin you today

‘Cause there’s holes in the floor of Heaven
and her tears are pourin’ down
that’s how you know she’s watchin’
wishin’ she could be here now
And sometimes if you’re lonely
just remember she can see
there’s holes in the floor of Heaven
and she’s watchin’ over you and me

    –Holes in the Floor of Heaven, Steve Wariner

Today’s story is going to have to wait a couple days.  I had full intentions to get it written today but I don’t feel right writing about something cheerful and fun while I am burdened with such a heavy heart.

Yesterday, I really wanted to tell about the great day that the three of us had but when I got home to start to write, I received some bad news.  My Grandpa passed away yesterday, Sunday, afternoon.  It wasn’t unexpected since he had been ill for awhile but it is still difficult.  I will continue to write about Gwen as I have been because that would be what he would want.  He never got to meet Gwen but he had seen pictures and heard stories about her.  I wish I could have taken Gwen home with me so he could have seen her.  He is no longer in pain, which is a blessing, and he is now with my Grandma (she passed in 2003).  When I think of them I think of them dancing together, I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with my crazy imagination and the fact that they both went because of cancer.

Rest in Peace, Gramps.

This picture was from my wedding in June.

I wish to remember him how he was when he was healthy.  This was how I chose to remember my Grandma also.  They took me camping with them each summer when I was younger; we traveled for a month to many places with the RV.  We went to Yellowstone, Mt Rushmore, the Badlands, CO, MT, ND, SD, OR, ID, UT, and of course WA.  Grandpa taught me how to play Cribbage and how to drive a manual.  He signed his name as an extra witness on our marriage license.

One of the stories that Grandpa always liked to tell was the one where I was camping with them, we had a campfire and I was roasting a hot dog.  I put down the stick with the hot dog so I could get a bun and a chipmunk stole my hot dog!  I ran around screaming, chasing after that stupid little creature.  I don’t know what I was trying to do I was just mad that my hot dog was gone!  I never did get that hot dog back.  Grandpa would always tell this story and poke fun of me and say “Grandpa! That squirrel stole my weenie!” like I’d said but the way he always said it was funny.  (I obviously don’t do the story justice.)

Last week when the news from back home started to get worse this song popped into my head; it was raining and I was crying.  With today’s current deluge (such a fun word) this song is once more fitting.  They are not gone for ever.  We will see them again.  Until then we just have to cherish the memories we have of them.

Rest in Peace Grandpa, I love you.

 

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