For the past few months I have been wanting to visit my grandparents, and I arranged a short trip to coincide with my parents and also to greet a supporting church for the Nehemiah Center. I arrived at my grandparents' house in Taber on Wednesday night after a long but uneventful day of traveling, and I was pleasantly surprised to see them both up yet. We had a cup of tea before Oma got so sleepy she could hardly walk, and Opa and I chuckled about how her sleepiness catches up to her. The next day after our traditional porridge for breakfast, I took Opa on some errands. One of the stops, he told me, was to take care of an insurance issue. He told me where to park, and I unwittingly ushered him into a small and unassuming office. They asked for his license, which is standard procedure in Nicaragua so I thought nothing of it. Then they led him to a back room to take his picture and signature. By this time I thought we weren't getting his insurance renewed, and when I looked down at the paper my grandfather gave me, I was aghast to see "TEMPORARY OPERATOR'S LICENSE" across the top. "Opa! You shouldn't have your driver's license!" I exclaimed to the 90-year-old man in front of me hobbling with a walker and barely able to stand after a 10 minute transaction. He said it was for just in case, in the future. The rascal used me to renew his license when no one else would have done it for him! Yes, I have very poor observation skills for those of you who are wondering, and I was focusing on opening the door and moving the chairs, not what the office was called. Little did I know that three days later my clever opa wouldn't need any kind of ID, let alone a driver's license. Looking back, at least he got what he wanted before he died.
The next couple of days my parents were around town also, and we spent time with Opa and Oma, even going on a walk both afternoons. It was a very nice visit. When I said goodbye to Opa on Saturday before leaving for Edmonton, I fully expected to see him the next week again. Then my aunt got the text while I was giving greetings from the Nehemiah Center to the church. Opa had one last Sunday of prayer and song around his bedside before he went to his eternal rest.
I am in awe of God's timing, that I could be visiting just at the right time. Opa had really good days I was with him, with minimal pain and good energy. It's one of the best ways I could have asked for to have my last memories with him.
Homer Oudman was a hardworking Dutch farmer who survived World War II, fighting in Indonesia, immigrating to Canada in the 50s, and a family of 10 children with all their children and grandchildren as well. He loved offering us treats and hated leaving leftovers after a meal. We could never drive the same route twice, and he always liked to go and look around at things. When my brother and I visited, Opa often took us to swim with him in the early mornings, and afterwards he would shout in his thick accent, "Do you need a slurrrpee for yourrr burrrrpee?" And we would go to the 7-11 to get slushies. He and Oma were at all my graduations, and they came for other special visits too. I appreciate their faith, prayer and family devotions at meal times. He could drive me crazy sometimes, but I'm so glad for all the time I could share with him. God's hand is very evident in the life of my Opa and also in that I could be close to share a last little bit with him.
Rest In Peace, Opa.
