It's funny; my grandfather's favorite holiday was St. Patrick's day. He was Irish to his core. I vividly remember his excitement when he and my grandmother traveled to Ireland (for what I doubt was his first visit) and he was able to kiss the Blarney Stone and survey the land of his ancestors. In 2008, he passed away on Friday, March 14th, and the process of laying him to rest began on Monday, March 17th.
The day he loved.
It was appropriate and touching and painful and beautiful.
Today makes two years since we began to say our last goodbyes and cried what were far from our last tears and continued to thank God for giving us so many years with one of the kindest and most loving men I've ever known.
One of the hymns we sang at his funeral was I Am the Bread of Life. Today, we sang that hymn in chapel. I joined in when I could, but mostly I just wept. It was a poignant and unexpected moment of remembrance for my dear Pop-Pop, and it was a fitting tribute: the hymn that always brings him to the front of my mind on the day that does the same.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.