Eight Days ago he was here, on earth. Eight days ago I held his warm hand, kissed his pink forehead and whispered I love you, Dad into his still hearing ears. Seven days ago, his breath faltered, his once strong heart stopped beating and he let go of his shell of skin and bones. His pink skin turned white, his hands turned cold and his beautiful soul left his cancer-infested vessel.
And now, he’s been in Glory a week. A week of what was once dim faith is now Sight. A week in the presence of his Savior. A week of pure joy–no sin or ugliness. A week of never having to muster up enough strength or willing himself to forgive or show grace or walk in obedience. A week of living without the effects of sin. And I’ve truly been overwhelmed with joy for him and overwhelmed with the fact that he’s more alive now than he ever was while here on earth.
But the funeral is over, his once strong body buried, and we are continuing on with everyday life and I miss him. I already miss his voice and smell and warm hand and bright smile and sharp mind. And the grief comes in waves and the sadness washes over my mind and heart and I long for just one more conversation and one more hug and one more chance to sing Cool Water.