He Called Me Twinkie: A Tribute for my Grandpa

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My Grandpa Jack passed away on August 2nd, 2021. A lot of friends have responded to me with condolences, as is appropriate. I feel sheepish, because, as I told my children last night (and much to Ezra’s horror and dismay), I’m not sad he died.

Ezra said, “But when someone dies, we SHOULD be sad!”

Life is complicatedly beautiful, isn’t it?

I have a million things to do today, but as I opened my computer to pay bills and open my “Mom’s Brain” spreadsheet (yes, that’s what it’s called), I found myself opening my “Compose New Post” bookmark instead. I suppose, hiding behind words on a computer screen is my comfort zone.

I wasn’t planning to go to his funeral. What? I know. I felt like I didn’t need to go, at least for myself. Because, I’ve said my goodbyes in stages through the years.

The first goodbye I remember thinking, “This could be the last goodbye,” was in 2011. A decade ago. My husband was in Afghanistan and, overwhelmed with life, I took off on a trip to see my grandparents in Ohio just for the fun of it. I don’t remember that much about the trip…we just hung out at their house. They still both lived independently (together) at that time. Grandma could still cook and Grandpa could still show me around his shop. Grandma shocked me by swinging on the swing with Ezra. We watched TV and played with the baby.

And as we stood in the doorway to say our goodbyes, I took these pictures. Because I knew…I knew this might be the last goodbye.

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We had Grandpa for ten more years. Let me tell you a bit about him:

Grandpa was the perfect-est Grandpa I think God ever made. Seriously. I’ve been racking my brain for the last 24 hours a single negative memory I have of Grandpa. I’m coming up completely blank. I rarely saw Grandpa angry. 100% of the time he was angry, it was over being hen-pecked by his wife of 62 years. Boy could she fuss at him over the stupidest things.

My relationship with Grandma was more complicated, but there was nothing complicated about Grandpa.

When you would ask Grandpa how he was doing, he would say, “I’m great! I’m always great!” 

If I was sad or hurt, he would say, “It’ll get better before you get married!” (Now I use the same thing with my own kids.)

If you asked him, “What are you doing, Grandpa?” he would respond, “Paintin’ a barn!” 

I never actually saw him paint a barn. But he did build me the most epic play kitchen and intricate doll house and perfect pink table and chair set ever known to little girls.

When I got married, I asked him to make me a breadbox just like the one he had made my mom. I still use it every single day.

He called me Twinkie. I guess he said when I was a wee thing, I had a twinkle in my eye. So that was my nickname.

On his 60th birthday, the family gathered for what I think was a surprise party. Everyone brought him 60 of something. Someone gave him 60 toothpicks, because he always had a toothpick. I gave him 60 Twinkies.

When I graduated from high school, it was his responsibility to close in prayer for my homeschool graduation. Before he prayed, he returned the favor with a box of Twinkies for me.

Grandpa started every prayer, “Our Most Gracious Lord God, we’re truly thankful…” 

Normally, it’s one of my Christian pet peeves when people pray in repetitive ways. But with Grandpa, you knew he meant every word, every time. He was truly thankful.

That’s the thing that’s been hitting me: he was so happy…so content with his life…like…nothing could have possibly made his life better.

Everywhere he went, he served. He had a well-worn Bible in a brown leather case with a white cross in the left-hand corner. At least, that’s how I remember it.

Grandpa was never a Bible teacher, but from clearing the brush to create a Bible camp that’s still in existence…to climbing up on a ladder with shaking hands to change lightbulbs at church until it became unsafe for him to do so…he served with his hands. He was the strongest, most dedicated Christian I have ever known.

And so, for the last decade, I’ve been slowly saying goodbye:

I tried to make sure that my grandparents got time with both of my kids.

Thanksgiving 2016:

March 2020 was the last time I saw Grandpa in person. It was the week before COVID shut the world down.

The last year of Grandpa’s life, the lack of social interaction caused his dementia to spiral out of control. COVID didn’t touch his body, but it probably stole what mind he had left. In that regard, God taking him home was a gift.

Last week, while my mom sat near him during his final days, she FaceTimed me. I took a screenshot, but I can’t bear to post it here because of the state he was in. I don’t want to remember him that way.

I’m not sure how much he was able to grasp in these moments. There was some nodding and mumbling. At one point, she asked him, “It’s Aprille! Can you tell her good morning?” Then, clear as day, he said in his cheery voice, “MORNIN’!” 

His last words to me…a cheery greeting. It was perfect.

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Maybe I’m idolizing him a little bit. No person is perfect. But, it occurred to me yesterday that Grandpa was the only person in my life who I’ve never wondered what he thought of me and my life. I never wondered if I was a disappointment to him. I never worried if something I did or said was going to hurt him or anger him. I never worried about pleasing him. He was just my grandpa, and I was his Twinkie. No drama. No expectations. Just love.

As I told my boys, I’m not sad. Grandpa lived a good life…a full life. It was his time. I know where his soul is resting. I know I’ll see him again. And that is enough. 

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What is our hope in life and death?

Christ alone, Christ alone.

What is our only confidence?

That our souls to Him belong.

 

Who holds our days within His hand?

What comes, apart from His command?

And what will keep us to the end?

The love of Christ, in which we stand.

 

What truth can calm the troubled soul?

God is good, God is good.

Where is His grace and goodness known?

In our great Redeemer’s blood.

 

Unto the grave, what shall we sing?

“Christ, He lives; Christ, He lives!”

And what reward will heaven bring?

Everlasting life with Him.

 

There we will rise to meet the Lord,

Then sin and death will be destroyed,

And we will feast in endless joy,

When Christ is ours forevermore.

 

O sing hallelujah!

Our hope springs eternal;

O sing hallelujah!

Now and ever we confess

Christ our hope in life and death.