Yesterday, I took the girls to visit Grandpa Steve's shop for what
could be the last time. I spent so much of my childhood around that
place and it just seems so strange that, soon, it will no longer be.
When we walked in, the silence startled me. My sister rounded the corner and we shared a look that was far more powerful than the silence, as was the joy from these girls:
Releasing packing material from the ceiling . . . joy.
Asking a million questions about each machine . . . joy.
Spraying each other with air (my personal favorite from childhood) . . . joy.
Posing on Grandpa's desk . . . joy.
It's easy to find joy and pride in all that he accomplished. Unfortunately, it has also been one of the most difficult parts of this journey. It is gut wrenching to watch the thing that defined him in so many ways disappear. We're choosing to honor the sadness, but focus on joy.
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