It was midnight. The start of Dec 7, 2011, which marked the 70th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. I got a call. It was my mom. My grandfather, a military veteran, who was 9 when Pearl Harbor happened, had taken his spirit to the next level of life's journey, just a few minutes prior. I knew it was going to happen, there had been plenty of warning. Like they always say, you can never really prepare for something like that. I went up to crawl into bed. My heart was so heavy, but I tried to breathe through it. As I began the climb into bed, past my husband, hoping not to wake the baby, he stopped me. "Who called you?" he asked. "My mom and brother", I replied. I don't remember if he asked if I was ok or not, because the next thing I knew he'd wrapped his arms around me and just held me, giving me a safe place to cry. He allowed me to mourn. He didn't speak. He didn't rush me. He just held me. I'm very blessed to have a husband who will do that for me. Especially since I'm not used to that kind of thing from him. Usually my emotions seem whiny and dramatic to him. This, however, he understood. My grandfather, thankfully, passed peacefully and quietly surrounded by love from those who could be there with him. My heart hurts not only for myself, but especially for the wife he left behind who made the last decade of his life as bright as she could. Honestly I believe God used her to help him have another decade of life. It also goes out to his children, who have lost their lifetime hero. Of course it goes out to all who lost this great man. To him, I dedicate this poem, which he inspired in my heart.
Tears are shed.
Hearts are broken.
Death has come.
A spirit is taken.
We should rejoice,
For a life lifted.
Instead we mourn,
For a light put out.
The world seems dark,
With each missing piece.
Yet heaven grows brighter,
With each breath rejoined.
For you breathed life into Adam.
Through death, you gain it back.
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