On 19 February, I wrote a draft in gmail, which says:

I am having an extremely hard time with this. He is the closest thing I’ve had to a real grandfather but our relationship isn’t close or natural enough to warrant anything but awkward sorrow.

I don’t know what I expected to do with the two somewhat dramatic and brief sentences, but they’ve been stored in my “Drafts” folder ever since. Wednesday, 15 February, Camille called me at work. I was thrilled to hear from her at an unorthodox time, early in the morning and on a school day, but that was quickly dissipated by the news that she’d gone to pick up her Valentine the night before and things happened and later that night, Grandpa was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

So he made a short list of what he’d like to accomplish before going home to his sweetheart, and he did those things. And he spent time with his children. And his grandchildren. And his good friends. And Monday, 1 May, he went home to his sweetheart. And I wanted to somehow find a way to keep just a tiny portion of his sweet spirit in my pocket to pull out and to tease me, gently. Just when I feel sad sometimes, I want to have him there to hear the crack his voice as he exclaims, “Hello, my dear!” And to see him smile with those dimples.

And more than the teasing and the cuteness—oh, the cuteness—I wanted to soak up what he’d taught me through his family and through our limited interactions over the past five years. I wanted him to know—to really know—that he’d been everything I wanted in what I’d never had. I wanted him to know how he’d shown me what a father and grandfather should be and could be. I wanted him to know that because of him, I knew that kind of goodness is possible and I’d never settle for anything less than what he is, for myself and for my children.

And now I lie here in my bed, on my belly on 8 May, with my arms extended over my red-cased pillows. And I’m thinking about all the things I could have told him, had I realized the significance of it all. I think about what brought me here to know such a good man, with good desires and great experience to impart to his posterity of 80-something and to countless friends and associates. And to me. And is that weird? I don’t know. But that day in the temple when he extended his hand to Dawne and grinned and said, “Hello! I’m her Grandpa,” he let me be his.

The girls sang today at the funeral. They sang the hymn dearest to me, “How Great Thou Art,” and I watched them and I cried, my very soul filled with so much gratitude, only few regrets—and acute but ultimate and overwhelming peace. The pure providence with which the past seven years have transpired is undeniable and I would be remiss to pass it off as coincidence—or to live any less than what has been offered to me in great knowledge and wisdom beyond any capacity I can comprehend.

Today, exactly three years ago, I boarded a plane to Utah to make a new life for myself. And I sat there this morning surrounded by his adoring family and friends, thinking about how this goodness ought to have taught me something, and I ought to appreciate its magnitude. And I ought to live up to its measure.

And because of what this family has been to me, I have been enriched beyond what I thought was attainable in this life. Because of the girls and their patience seven years ago. Because of who Camille is willing to be to me and for me and because of her steadfastness in teaching me by faithful example. Because of Judy, who has put up with more rambling emails from a dramatic teenager than should be legal in many states. Because they were brought up in truth by this good man and his sweetheart. And because the members of this family have taught me how to set my sights higher than I thought I could have and they’ve shown me ways in which I need to improve myself and prepare myself to be worthy of the blessings that are available and livable. And this is why we do what we do and this is why we believe what we believe.

And who he taught his children to be and who they’ve taught their children to be is the reason I was offered knowledge of the Gospel of Christ. I have perfect faith in the goodness of the Lord in providing a way—but I am so grateful that this has been the way.

And that’s who my Grandpa is to me. And the Gospel is true. Really.