it's been two years today

If there’s one person in the world who ever truly loved me, it was my Grampa. He loved me, and I knew it. I never doubted it. He thought I was great, smart, beautiful, and he loved my hugs. He always told me that I gave the best hugs in the world, and he told me I was the prettiest girl he ever saw. Grampy once asked that, if reincarnation existed, if I would wait for him to come back and grow up so that he could marry me, because I was just so beautiful. I never doubted any of his compliments, because he had no reason to lie to me. My parents could compliment me, but I’d always think that they had to say those things because I was their daughter. And with other people, no matter how much I wanted to believe them, I’d always think they that had some ulterior motives for complimenting me. But Grampy? He had six children, 13 grandchildren, five great-grandchildren, and countless friends… what possible reason could he have for going out of his way to give me a big head? None. He really thought the world of me, and I really thought the world of him.
Even without the compliments that followed, I used to love to give him hugs. He thought that I was the greatest hugger ever, but the fact of the matter is that I learned from the best. His hugs were strong and lasted for a good twenty seconds. He’d squeeze, he’d kiss my cheek, and hold on tight. He was so strong. Even when he was old and weak, his hugs were still strong. He always smelled good, like soap and old man’s cologne… not exactly a smell I would expect to enjoy, so maybe it was just a good smell because it was his. Everything about that man was filled with love. His voice, his smile. When he’d see me walk in the door, or when he came to visit and he saw me, his eyes and smile would light up, he’d be so excited to see me. “Sarah!” I wish you could hear his voice. So strong, deep, and loving. Shaky towards the end, but still full of life and love. If he was sitting, he’d instantly get up and come over to give me a big strong hug. Towards the end it’d be difficult for him to get up, but he’d do it. He’d always get up to hug me.
Yeah, I believe in Heaven. He’s there. He was a man of faith, of great faith, and now I have faith that he is with Jesus. He’s happy. He doesn’t hurt anymore. His head may still be bald, but it’s not covered with band-aids from having cancer scraped off. He no longer has scabs peeling and bleeding from his constant excruciating treatments. He doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s rejoicing in Heaven over his Savior, who he loved in life and loves now. The One who made him capable of loving me so much. I saw him when he was dying. I saw him when he couldn’t get up anymore, when he couldn’t smile and say my name.
It’s been a couple years, but I cry about him still, on occasion. I don’t cry because he died, but because I don’t know if I can wait another fifty or sixty years until I see him again. He was an incredible man and I’m thankful every day for all the time that I did have to spend with him. He hurt so much, and I’m glad, with every piece of myself, that he’s happy now; and I look forward to the day when I’ll see him again.