Patching holes

It’s now February (yeah, I’m a day behind on that one), the month of love and black history, both of which I’m a huge fan of. But it’s also a month that makes me contemplate loss, and I’ve been thinking a lot about holes lately. Holes that people leave when they’re not a part of your life anymore. Relationships come and go, and I realize it’s a natural part of life. But it doesn’t mean that those people don’t shape the fabric of who you are, or that they don’t rip a piece out when they go.

The Bible says not to patch an old cloth with a new piece (Matthew 9:16 “No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch will pull away from the garment, making the tear worse.”). I know that Jesus wasn’t necessarily talking about relationships in that context, but I understand what he means. You can’t replace an old relationship with a new one and expect it to repair what’s missing. Eventually you’ll realize that person can’t just fill a void, and things will come apart, leaving you worse than you were to begin with.

I’m not saying there’s no hope, believe me. I guess I’m just saying that February is a month that reminds me of two big holes that remain after I lost two really important people. They were both born this month, which is exceedingly bittersweet - remembering the day they were born reminds me of their loss.

Grandpa was born February 2, and all the groundhogs rejoiced. He was a big man (until toward the end), the only person I knew in real life who shopped at the “big and tall” stores. His hugs were extraordinary, and his smile lit up his entire face. I remember playing cards with my Grandpa and Grandma, and they unashamedly beat me at poker and took my pennies (which I’m pretty sure they gave me to begin with).  Spending time with them made me cheerful, and I always left feeling like Grandpa could handle anything, and he’d do it with incredibly fresh breath (tic-tac, anyone?).

Kind of looks like a gentle giant, holding little baby Katie...

Grandpa loved his grandgirls. Guess which one I am?

Dad was born February 7, and I’ve always counted myself as incredibly lucky to have had him as long as I did. I was 12 when he died, but those twelve years left an indelible impression on me. Understanding a loving Father God was easy from the beginning, because all I had to do was think about my own dad. He had the loudest laugh (which I think I inherited) and the most gregarious personality. He was generous with his time and never turned me down for a spot on his lap to watch a baseball game. Nate says I have Dad’s round cheeks, which makes me proud to smile every day of my life.

A proud, happy family.

Dad always loved to see people open gifts.

I’m missing these special men, but I’ll take the holes they left over never knowing them at all. Grandpa made Mom, and Dad made me, and without both of them, there'd be no Milo (I know, I know - they did the world a favor, right?). So they're some pretty important men, and they always will be. I've got some new important men now in Nate and Milo, and we'll make new memories to smile on in the future. I told Milo the other day about his Grandpa Jay and his Great-Grandpa Dutch, and I said, "You don't get to meet them, but they made Mommy who she is. So, in a way, they'll make you a little bit of who you are, too."