rip, grandpa

Death ushers in many emotions. Sadness, most assuredly. Sometimes relief, if the death is preceded by a long illness. Guilt, sometimes, because the primary caregivers feel relief that the suffering is over. I’m extremely fortunate to be 40 years old and have never had to deal very closely with death. That changed Tuesday morning, when my grandfather died. It was not at all unexpected. He was frail and weak and finally seemed beaten by his third bout with cancer — a strong, proud man reduced to a life of bathrobes, slippers, and colostomy bags. My parents, who have been his primary caregivers outside of hospice care for the past 6 months, have also been taxed beyond reason. Through the grief I am happy they will finally get their lives back. I was chatting with mom a couple weeks ago, and it was clear to me she knew the end was near for her father. “I hope the Lord sees fit to take him soon,” she said. “I think he is ready.” To which I replied: “Grandpa is ready? Or the Lord is ready?” Mom got a nice laugh out of that (grandpa could be a bit difficult at times). It’s the first time I heard her laugh in months.
[Photo: 1980? 81? That's me with the hair and chubby cheeks (left) standing in as best man for my grandfather (right) at his second wedding.]

Now might be a good time to take a bit of a blog holiday. Try to stay cool, cats … and I’ll be back later this month.