There are just no words to describe what we are feeling, what we have been through, what we have lost. I am so proud to be their granddaughter, mother of five of their great-granddaughters. Yet nothing can change the fact that every day without them hurts.
Sunday we gathered for a family memorial service. This time I did not hesitate. I went right over to him and put my hand gently on top of his. I struggled against the tears and the choked back sobs, consciously avoiding letting my tears stain his perfect suit.
He looked restful, finally at peace. His gentle hands rested on top of the towel that was placed there so lovingly. I noticed the toothpick in his suit pocket and smiled to myself as countless memories washed over me. I easily recalled images of him smiling, with a toothpick in his mouth, at one of our many summer cookouts, sitting at the kitchen table laughing, or walking amongst his roses. He was never without a toothpick to clutch in his teeth or twirl around in his fingers.
And there was the pin.
I had never seen it before, and that glossy red pin might as well have been pinned to my heart. A symbol of his life in the railroad industry, I held my breath at the sight of it pinned to his lapel. My broken heart swelled with pride. How I love that man!
As a family we stood together and cried, paid our last respects, and occasionally we laughed as we shared memories and worked hard to hold each other up. We know he is happy, but we mourn our loss nonetheless.
Monday dawned gray, cloudy (Just like another day in August) and cold. We commented on how the snow falling on that morning was like a gift to us, as the August rain had been not so long ago. As we approached the cemetery, it became difficult to breathe. There would be no happy ending for any of us that day.
I will always remember looking up and seeing tiny angels adorning the pine boughs above the graves. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds as we began to sing quiet, tearful tributes of "Home on the Range" and "I've Been Working on the Railroad."
How is it possible for a broken heart to break over and over again?
We crowded together, possibly for the last time, in my Grandparents' house that afternoon. There was an endless amount of love, heartbreaking tears, and even some much needed laughter. I'm certain Grandma and Grandpa would have approved. Well, except for the part about all of us exploring the forbidden basement.
I walked through the house with my husband and my girls, silently saying goodbye to the structure that housed so many wonderful childhood memories. I carefully photographed the house, the walls, the windows, anything that would help me to keep those memories alive forever.
It hurts to say goodbye.
The Robinson legacy is mighty and as his memorial program so eloquently pointed out,our roots run deep. I am so grateful for the rich heritage I have been given and for the love that this family exudes. Now it is time to carefully preserve their history by writing and retelling their stories so that we will always have them near.
I will nag if I have to.
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