Saturday Post -- 26/11/11

For as long as we are based out here in Bolivia, the miles that separate us from friends and family will always irk, but this week the strain of distance has been most acutely felt. For the past four days, my family have maintained a vigil around my Grandpa Cunningham's care home bedside, lending some company as the final release from his toils awaits. His once full frame is a distant memory; a skeletal face buried in a pillow occasionally, briefly, probably with an effort beyond our comprehension, acknowledges the presence of visitors. Alzheimer's' grip will soon, mercifully, be loosened.

It is natural to wish to be near loved ones at such a time. But I draw comfort from the fact that the old friend I effectively lost many years ago would understand -- indeed, probably approve of -- our absence.

Like his equivalent on my mother's side, my Grandpa Cunningham made the most of his time in this life, but by no means in promotion of it. They both knew where the action was really at. And I never knew how good I had it.

If there was one secular maxim he lived by, it was a categorical 'No nonsense'. Suffering fools gladly never quite caught on with him. A sign on the door of his study read 'Lack of preparation on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine'. When married with his mischievous sense of humour, the results of this intolerance of the idle often became part of Cunningham lore. Pity those poor souls sat beside him on the train to work who would attempt to steal a glimpse of his beloved Glasgow Herald -- and duly prompt him to start reading it upside-down.

But the occasional 'life-lessons' he imparted should not be confused with a coldness of heart. If anything, they reflected a sense of urgency, that life was too precious an opportunity to do things by half, that there was too great a story to share with his fellow man. A very generous early retirement offer from British Rail was accepted in the mid-80s, but in reality, retiring was the last thing on his mind. Immediately he invested in a personal computer (in days when they cost a small fortune) and set about re-training himself. We can learn much from older generations, though with technology it usually works the other way round. Not so with the Cunninghams.

Indeed, one of my earliest memories is of a rainy school holiday when I was around five or six years-old, sat in Grandpa's office chair and, key by hidden key, typing out the words for a church hymn book he was compiling. I can well reflect now on this voracious reader's passion in that moment both for my own personal literacy and for the building of the Kingdom.

And if that meant family sacrifices, then so be it. He was delighted about my gap-year opportunity in 2000 when I first came to Bolivia and proud that a family member was taking such a step; befitting of a man who used his retirement to twice visit missionaries in Brazil and sat on the board of Scottish missionary agency Interlink for the best part of a decade, effectively becoming the resident IT guy in the process. Here, as everywhere else, the 'personal' pursuits really had a higher purpose in mind.

Indeed, so healthy was his perspective that I would go so far as to vouch that, were he today in full charge of his capacities, he would wish his current state to serve as a reminder to those who do not yet know the Lord as their saviour, both of our utter helplessness as fallen creatures, and of the urgency of the day.

For me, the most agonising of all farewells as we left Scotland back in January 2010 took place at my grandparents' home in Hamilton, when Grandpa Cunningham was just about recognising us and no more. Kirsty had joined us and the five of us spent perhaps the best part of an hour shooting the breeze together, doing our best to ignore the elephant in the room: that whether by death or by Alzheimers' continued draining of the memory, he would never again know Amanda and me by name in this life. I did my best to hold it together for Grandma's sake, but as I lay down that night, I cried like never before in my adult life and for the first time, wished that awful wish, that it could somehow, soon, all be over. The thought of returning home to an old friend who didn't know me was terrifying.

And now the moment of release is at hand, and all, but Grandpa's very breath, is past tense. Right now, I long to be there, as family beckon him home with his favourite hymns and Psalms. But I know too that some day soon I will be reunited in heaven with my resurrected Grandpa Cunningham, free of Alzheimer's, indeed, free of any blemish, and reunited with the Lord and saviour he so loved. Somewhere deep within him, inaccessible to all but himself, I am sure the spirit of Paul's words to the Philippians is very much alive. In truth, it always was.

For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labour for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better.


Prayer

• For my Grandpa Cunningham as he takes his leave of this world and for my family as they seek to support him and each other. Pray particularly for my Grandma Cunningham.

Praise

• For the life well lived, and the sobering example it is to Amanda and I as we too seek to make Christ's name known.

¡Que Dios les bendiga!

Craig & Amanda


P.S. Barely an hour after having written this entry, my Grandpa died, at 12.55pm UK time. The pain is over and as I cannot best sum up what this moment means for us, I will leave it to Professor Lewis. 'Now at last [he is] beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.'