On December 20th, 2016, the world got a little dimmer as my Grandfather, Daryl Tysdal made his way towards the golden gates of heaven. After a two and a half year battle with ALS, he graduated into glory and claimed his citizenship with Jesus once and for all, with a new body that would never fall captive to the ways of this sinful world ever again.
He was suddenly free. All the pain he endured, all the hardship he undertook – it was left here on earth where it belonged. The chains that once bound him were broken and shattered and destroyed, and they will forever and ever and ever stay that way.
Sitting in a hostel in Manila, Philippines with high grade Typhoid fever, it was difficult to hear this news and think of anything positive to be said about the situation at hand. I sat confused, angry and most of all saddened at the thought of when I go home in four months time, my Grandfather wont be there to greet me in good ole New Braunfels, Texas.
When I left for the race, I was completely aware that my Grandfather may not make it the entire nine months. I had grown to accept this harsh reality. But saying you’re okay with something is vastly different than walking it out.
As I sat in my puddle of sadness in Manila, I called my dear friend and mentor, Nate Isler-Williams, who talked me through all my thoughts and feelings like he has done for the past six years without fail. He encouraged me to tell God how I was feeling, to be honest with myself about how I was feeling and, if I felt led, share it.
Here it is, then. The only way I know how to really express my thoughts and emotions: writing. I invite you to the table; into my suffering, into my joy, into my new perspective and understanding… into my memories.
Grandfather, this is for you.
When I was little, I had a bit of baby fat that would not seem to go away. My brothers made fun of me, I was self conscious of it…until I saw Grandfather: a man who, at the time, liked the food Gram made a little too much and his protruding tummy showed it. As two pudgy people, we decided to embrace it whenever we were around each other. We would lift up our shirts so you could see our bellies and we would yell, “TYSDAL TUMMY!” Suddenly, we were belly bumping, and I would land in a fit of giggles, asking to do it again and again and again. Grandfather always complied.
On the mornings when Dad and Novie would have to leave early for work for whatever reason, Gram and Grandfather would come up to the house to take care of us and get us to school. Elaborate breakfast casseroles would be prepared by Gram while Grandfather was in charge of waking us up. In doing so, he sang a little diddy:
“It’s nice to get up in the morning, when the sun begins to shine, at 4 or 5 or 6 o’clock in the good ole summertime. But when the snow is snowing, or it’s murky o’re head, it’s nice to get up in the morning, but it’s nicer to lie in bed.”
It was both my favorite and least favorite way to be woken up in the morning. Its only redeeming quality was that it meant Gram’s food was ready.
Thanksgiving, circa 2008, Grandfather decided to bring his own sort of “turkey” to the feast, and he refused to tell anyone what it was, the mystery man that he claimed to be. Instead, he just insisted that everyone have a bite of it…whatever “it” was. As good grandchildren, we did as we were told, and the response was a resounding “YUCK!”
Grandfather had somehow convinced his innocent grandchildren to put duck liver in their mouths, chew and swallow it.
Grandfather always challenged me. He left one summer to go to Canada, and the night before he left, he came to talk to me and Andie. He wanted each of us to read a book and write an essay by the time he got back, which he would read and ask us questions about. At the time, I thought it was silly, but looking back, I think it’s because he was genuinely interested in learning about what we were interested in. I read the book. I wrote the essay. I talked to Grandfather about it. I remember hoping that he was proud of me for my accomplishments. I think he was.
At every family gathering, Grandfather would share scripture and his heart on a particular topic. He opened up the table for us to ask questions and be curious about things. Even when I was a wee one, he answered my simple minded questions with patience and tenderhearted kindness. He was gentle and full of wisdom when it came to knowing the Lord. He loved Him more than anything this world offered, and it was so clear when He spoke about the Lord and read His word. He revered Him. He followed Him wholeheartedly. He was His servant.
Grandfather,
I can’t tell you why you got ALS. I can’t tell you why I couldn’t be there in your last days. I can’t tell you why things played out the way they did for you. All I can say is that the Lord stands sovereign over all of it and that it’s good, because He is a good God who takes care of His children.
When I was preparing for the race, I remember how discouraged I was that I couldn’t talk to you and ask you theological questions in your apartment for hours. That was all I wanted to do, and I no longer had that option. You showed me, though. Without ever using words, you showed me what it meant to live a life that was lived joyfully, even when that’s the last thing you wanted to be. You lived for him up until your last breath. I didn’t have to be there to know that’s true.
Paul said that to live is Christ and to die is gain. I can’t help but think of how truthful that is about how you lived. As each day passed, you were losing more and more…of your functions, your abilities, yourself. You continued to live in a way that proclaimed His glory, but in death His true goodness was revealed as we know you regained all the things you lost and then some – fully restored, fully made new.
I wanted to go home when I heard that you left us. I wanted to get on the next flight and be by your side, even though I knew it was already too late. I wanted to be there for Gram and Dad and everyone else. Instead I was in the Philippines, and this trip that’s been such a blessing to me suddenly felt like the exact opposite. I abhorred the 7,000 miles separating us and the race itself. I’m still struggling with wanting to be home right now, honestly. It was decided long ago that I wouldn’t be coming home when things got really bad with you, or even for your funeral. But Grandfather, the reality of that is so rough. I’m having to grieve you all by myself so far away. I’m working through it, though. It’s hard. It’s another time I wish I could get your advice.
I talk to my teammates about you all the time. It helps to talk about you, the man you were, the memories we shared. My friend Abigail commented that your morning song may have once been annoying, but that I’ll probably sing it to my kids and my grandkids… You bet I will. If it makes me a little more like you, then I’m all for it. It’s endearing. Annoying, but endearing.
I’m going to miss you every day. I was privileged. I got to grow up with my grandparents in my back yard. You were at every play, every football game, at every awards program… You were there for it all. I’m grateful for every moment I had with you. They were too few in number, but they were beautiful. Thank you, Jesus.
I prayed to Jesus the night you passed. I asked Him to show me that you were with Him. I knew that you were, but I wanted that confirmation. The next morning at breakfast, Olivia told me that the Lord told her you were there in heaven with him, singing praises to His name – something you haven’t gotten to do in over 2 years.
You are with Him. I know that you are complete, that there is no sorrow or pain or any evil where you are. I can only imagine the look on your face when you saw Jesus. What a truly glorious day that must have been for you. You get to experience that joy forever. I pray you never tire of it. I know you wont.
I love you, Grandfather. Like the book so many summers ago, I hope I’m making you proud again now. If you ever find yourself looking down here, my prayer is that you look favorably at the lives of your children and grandchildren. You are so dearly loved by all of us. We will do all we can to keep your legacy alive for generations to come.
Well. This is it. Until we meet again, good sir.
I love you forever, Grandfather.
