Dedaddy

Focal Verse: "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (2 Corinithians 4:18)

On Tuesday I lost my Dedaddy. I'm not sure how I started calling him that as a little girl, but I did. And because I was one of the oldest grandchildren, all of the other grandchildren called him Dedaddy, too.

He was one of the most loving, giving men I've ever met. He worked hard his whole life to provide for his family. He fell in love with my grandmother, 14 years his junior, and treated her three sons as his own. But he also wanted his own child, so he and Mema had my dad's baby brother.

My memories of Dedaddy and Mema are as heart-warming as most children's memories would be of grandparents. I always looked forward to visiting them. Though they lived a modest life, their home was full of love.

But five years ago, my Mema passed away during a risky but necessary surgery. I'll never forget his grief when the surgeon told us. His heart was broken, and he was never the same. These past five years were miserable for him, and sadly, he succumbed to deep depression. Most recently, he realized that his cancer had likely returned, and he had had enough. On Tuesday he took his own life.

It has been difficult to accept. Last night as I lay in bed, my mind started flashing to memories of Dedaddy and Mema like scenes of a movie. Scene 1: Mema picking peas from her garden and showing me, just a little girl, how to shell them. Scene 2: Dedaddy grilling fish and hush puppies in the back yard on a summer evening. Scene 3: All the grandchildren playing with our Christmas presents in the back yard. Scene 4: Dedaddy giving me a kiss as I arrive at their house and saying, "Hi, Sugar!" And then Scene 5: Dedaddy so full of grief that he took his own life in the same backyard where we shared so many good memories.

And then it hit me. It doesn't matter how many good memories you make if you don't have a hope for life after death.

All of those wonderful memories seem so futile now. As Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, says in Ecclesiastes 1:2, ""Meaningless! Meaningless!"says the Teacher."Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

Tonight, my husband and son and I went out to the house we are building. The frame just got up and we were able to walk through what would be the rooms of our future home. Excitement poured through me. As Drew ran through the house, I pictured him growing up in it. I envisioned another child someday in his or her own room. I thought of Christmases being spent around the fireplace. The promise of the family memories we would make in our new home was overwhelming.

Yet even these things will pass away. All that matters is if we have hope for eternity. Where there will never be a tear. Where there will never be depression, despair, or hopelessness. Where there will never be sickness, disease, or disability. Where we will never again be hindered by our sinful nature. Where we will be the perfect individuals God had intended us to be when he created us. Where we will have fellowship with those we love without fear of losing them. Where we will be in the presence of the Savior who loved us so much he couldn't bear to spend eternity apart from us.

I just hope with all of my heart that even in Dedaddy's despair, he found that hope and cried out to God, even if it was in those final moments.

Because I really want to see him again.