For my Pawpaw

I didn’t think I’d be writing again for a bit after the passing of my pawpaw last week; but while grieving, I have found myself feeling the need to. Craving it almost. A place to put all my thoughts — I just picture them spewing and landing on the paper.

Grieving is weird.

I feel strange even using that word about myself. I feel guilty for claiming that word for this current season. And then I exhale, I come to, and I realize that it is okay to not be okay. That me, all my family and all that love my pawpaw, are not really alright and that is okay. In ways, we’re all broken after experiencing this.

The world can be dark. Death is associated with darkness.

This tragedy has me looking at life and death, and the world, and people and God and Heaven — in a different way.

I’m checking in with myself often.

Leaning on the Lord and sitting with Him in my grief isn’t an option, it’s necessary.

It’s about the only source of hope for me at this time.

And that’s okay, too.

It’s really the very place I should get my hope from.

From the foot of the throne. From God’s promises.

He’s the only One that sustains us. The only one.

The only One that can meet our needs. That can satisfy our souls, quench our thirst. The One that provides, restores and redeems.

So I’m going to let it hurt.

I’m going to feel it all — feel everything.

I’m going to release all the pain, brokenness, intrusive thoughts, my what if questions. My “did I do enough?” The “I could’ve said or done more”

I’m releasing it and giving it to the One that asks for it — the One that commands it, rather.

1 Peter 5:7 (NIV)

“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”

Matthew 11:28–30 (ESV)

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Psalm 55:22 (NIV)

“Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous be shaken.”

My dear aunt Courtney, she’s so wise. I adore her — she said to me

“I’m reminding myself that grief is a friend. She’s not going anywhere. Sit with her and listen to what she has to say.”

So, I’m sitting with Jesus and my new friend Grief.

I picture us sitting on the carpet. The 3 of us, cross legged — I mean, I’d called it criss cross applesauce, hehe — all hanging out and talking. It’s been 5 days now, and there’s no end in sight.

Courtney said Grief wasn’t going anywhere, I think she’s right.

You experience tragedy, and one of your first instincts is to long for normalcy.

Your heart immediately reaches for what feels familiar and safe.

The way life was before; before tragedy struck. Before something broke you.

This may be the worst or the hardest thing myself and my family have gone through.

What does life look like going forward? I have no idea, but I think in time, we will have a new normal.

I don’t think it can be the way it was before.

We live in a fallen world where bad things happen.

It’s just the reality of our life here on earth.

If God made the earth perfect without troubles, why would we need a Savior or Heaven?

And sometimes things happen to us in life that don’t leave us.

They leave their lasting mark on us forever.

It will take time, but the wounds heal. They’ll bind up, overtime the pain will soften.

But the scar will remain. And for His glory, it will be redeemed.

Every hard thing we experience doesn’t have to be in vain.

If we run to the Father; if we fall to our knees at the foot of the throne and lay down the weight we’ve been carrying, He can turn even the deepest wounds into testimonies of His grace. What once broke us can become the very thing that draws us closer to Him. Every scar can tell a story of redemption — not of what was lost, but of how God rebuilt what only He could restore.

So run to Him.

Let that be our first response. Before all else, run to Jesus.

So, that’s what I’m doing.

All my longing, all the pain, all the confusion.

I’m grieving and I’m sitting in it — with the One that stays. The one that sees every tear and doesn’t flinch. The one that promises to bring about beauty from the ashes.

The One who knows how to heal the things I don’t even know how to name.

And that’s exactly what my pawpaw would wish for us. All of us.

I love you my sweet pawpaw Tommy.

I’ll cherish the memories, the lessons, the laughs and our God talks forever.

I’ll honor you by running to the Father every time.

I’ll honor you by loudly, boldly and confidently always claiming and testifying that no matter my circumstances,

that He is still good.

Jackie Thomas Henry Jr.
October 7, 1957 – November 7, 2025