A Tribute to My Grandpa

One year ago today, my grandpa’s spirit left his frail, cancer-ridden body for a higher realm.  It’s still so strange to me that when I step into his house, he won’t come walking around the corner, with a story to tell or a project to show me.  Or that when I walk around to the backyard, he won’t be working in the garden, wearing his straw hat and flannel shirt and whistling back and forth with a chickadee.  Or that I’ll never again give him a hug goodbye and hear his husky “Proud of you” whisper in my ear.  I can’t believe it’s been a year since his death, and at the same time, it feels like a lifetime since I’ve seen him, since I sat by the side of his bed holding his hand while he slept and spoon feeding him lemon yogurt.  I didn’t know it at the time, but it was this photo I took of my grandpa during the last few weeks of his life that made me realize I had a talent and a passion for capturing memories and stories through photography (more about that story here).  Gradually that realization led me to start Hannah Israelsen Photography, so it feels very fitting to pay tribute to my grandpa here today.  The best way I feel I can do that is to share the words I wrote the day after he passed away:

“As the little prince dropped off to sleep, I took him in my arms and set out walking once more.
I felt deeply moved, and stirred. It seemed to me that I was carrying a very fragile treasure. It seemed to me, even, that there was nothing more fragile on all the Earth. In the moonlight I looked at his pale forehead, his closed eyes, his locks of hair that trembled in the wind, and I said to myself: ‘What I see here is nothing but a shell. What is most important is invisible…'”
–“The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint Exupery

I’m sharing this quote from my grandpa’s favorite book because this is how I felt on Saturday. My grandpa’s condition really began to deteriorate last week and on Saturday he was sleeping most of the day and not able to move or communicate except for opening his eyes and some gestures and mumbles. I had the beautiful experience of being able to spend most of the day there helping him and was able to just sit by him and hold his hand as he rested sometimes. His body didn’t look like the lively, joking grandpa I’ve always known. What I saw was nothing but a shell, a fragile treasure, containing what is most important, so real and tangible, yet invisible: his spirit. His childhood adventures, college pranks, military experiences, his testimony of the gospel, mission in Europe, role as a husband and father, his scouting legacy, his legendary escapades as a high school teacher, dedication to many church callings, and determination to face any challenge with strength and find something to laugh about in it–in short, everything that truly makes him who he is–could not be confined to his 83-year-old, weakening mortal frame. On Monday my grandpa’s spirit slipped away from his body’s shell. But what is most important is invisible: the truth that this separation is only temporary, and one day I will see him again when his spirit and body are reunited. I love you so much Grandpa! Au revoir!

I miss my grandpa more than I can say.  He is a part of me and my heart hurts from the sting of being separated from him.  But I am everlastingly grateful to know that I don’t have to miss him forever.  We are kindred spirits, and we will be together again one day.  Until then, I hope I can live the way he taught me so that somewhere he’ll be able to look down and send me a “Proud of you” whisper on the wind.