THE CALHOUN FAMILY: March 2012

Every year we are blessed to be able to go down to Amelia Island for a family vacation during spring break with the Boston Calhouns and the grandparents. It is always a special time--not just because we are at the beach, but because my kids absolutely adore their cousins. Even Owen got into it this year, tagging along after his favorite "Becca."

We were treated to a tour of the White Oak Conversation Center, a magnificent 6500 acre wildlife preserve. Apparently it is near impossible to get a tour, but my resourceful mother-in-law scored one for us. We rode in an open-aired van (felt like we were on a mini safari tour). The most amazing part of it was seeing and feeding the giraffes. They were right next to us with only a cable separating us. Those are my favorite pictures.

The pool was a hit with much simultaneous jumping along with some beach time. Not to mention the annual adult/kid soccer game.

A family vacation wouldn't be complete without the customary family photo. We had a photographer, but we all snapped a few of our own. I am attaching some of my more favorite non-professional ones. I ended up with a ton of Ellie as she has decided she loves the camera. Every five steps, she would stop and say, "Hey, take one of me," then give her sweet five-year old pose, trying to look all grown up.

Alas we are back in Nashville, dreaming about next year. Until then. . . . some of my favorite photos to document the trip.

OK, so this isn't the best, but it was the best we got. Hoping photographer captured a better one :)

It's been two and half weeks now since we got the stunning news that we had lost our Papa Nick. No one is truly prepared for the loss of a loved one, but in our case it was so unexpected to have left us breathless. I had gone up to Louisville the weekend before to visit Papa in the hospital with pneumonia, thinking I would do my part and take a shift or two as we tried to make sure he was never alone. Keeping him from being alone was more about not letting his stubborn self get into trouble and knowing how much he hated hospitals and doctors rather than any great fear that he was in danger.

So I got the pleasure of spending two great evenings with my papa, with the television on and him sitting up asleep, his usual position. I learned that they moved to the basement so they'd always be safe from storms and tornadoes. I had always wondered. I got to hold his hand and kiss his forehead. On Sunday, as I was preparing to leave, we set up a Meal calendar, so he'd have some good cooking when he was released on Monday.

But Monday came and went, and there he stayed. First a heart issue, then it is as though the hospital itself was staking a claim on his life. After decades of smoking and just living a hard, working man's life, his body gave up on him.

I remember that Wednesday night so well. Sherry and I had been at church for a Praise and Worship night and the song How Great is Our God was playing. Our church does a wonderful mix where it flows right into How Great Thou Art. For years, every time I have heard that song, I have thought of my Papa. He wouldn't have wanted to be recognized and thought of as great, but he was. He was our spiritual rock and my walking Jesus. When I think of Jesus' life, his servant's heart, his loving all people regardless of sin, it reminds me of Papa and the way he loved everyone so well. The way he loved his family at Thanksgiving, but could always be counted on to leave right after dessert to go love his other family, St. Dennis AA group, because they needed him more on that Holiday night. I was floored to hear the stories at his funeral, about comments from people of how he had literally saved their lives in the 30 years he helped lead the AA group.

I remember that Wednesday evening as the song was playing, feeling so close to Papa, and yet, feeling that something wasn't quite right. . . and then getting the call not long after I got home that he was being put on the respirator, and then before it seemed I had even hung up, that he was gone.

In the two weeks since, I have reflected on the life he lived, cried my buckets of tears, but then began to feel a sense of joy in my heart. I remember so vividly talking to him on one of our family beach trips and his faith. I remember him saying that the best part of his week was taking communion on Sundays, taking in Christ and being clean again--starting fresh and new each week. I envision him walking through the Pearly Gates and meeting his Jesus, greeted with "Welcome, my good and faithful servant," in white robes, clean and sparkly. He'd reach out to hug my dad with a "How ya doing?" Then he'd be directed to the most emerald green garden with packs of seeds and told, "It's yours." How he would have loved that, toiling in God's garden, waiting patiently for the day when we will all reunite.

As I spent that weekend in Louisville, visiting with Papa's family and friends, one song buzzed in my head the whole time--Great is Thy Faithfulness. It was like my mantra. I've attached it below along with some pictures.