Frosty Morning

I bolted out of bed as I heard the phone ringing early in the morning. None of us has been feeling well all week, and we hadn't set any alarms hoping for a chance to sleep in. Was it Mac? He's called early before when he hasn't been feeling well.

But it wasn't Mac. As I answered the phone, I heard the voice of my mother in law on the other end, and I knew. She doesn't call early. Especially on a Sunday. My heart sank as I listened to her talk, and I as heard my husband moving in the bed and whisper, " Is everything okay?"

My husband's 95 year old grandfather had passed away in the night. The tile floor was cold under my feet as I stood listening to the details of the last week of his life. He hadn't been opening his eyes, and only sat up for brief periods for a few bites of food here and there.

And now he was gone from this life. Cold, like the morning.

Grandpa would have enjoyed the early morning scene of frost covering the grass, the world looking as if sugar had been spilled out everywhere. He loved to be outside working in his flowers, taking in the beauty.

With the frost comes death. Flowers disappear. Trees become sparse. Winter is on its way.

Early in the morning, after receiving the phone call and wandering around outside, I was reminded by Him that death isn't always ugly. Death can be beautiful.