Last Friday, my 97-year-old grandfather passed away. We knew it was coming, yet there was still a part of me that wondered if it would ever happen. Gran seemed to deny death on more than one occasion. Several weeks ago, Mom called to tell me unless there was a miracle, they didn't think he was going to make it through the night.
Not only did he make it through the night, he lived for several more weeks, making quite a recovery for a while. The last week, however, was basically horrible. He didn't eat or drink, and the last few days lost the ability to swallow. He was on consistent morphine to ensure he wasn't in pain as he couldn't really let us know. As hard as it was to know he was going to die, death was merciful. I miss him dearly, but I am glad he was able to go peacefully and not prolong his suffering.
Growing up, we only lived about 10 or 15 minutes away from Gran and Grandma, so we spent a lot of time with them. Jason and I were their only grandchildren, so spoiled we were. I remember countless fake fishing trips, then length of which wouldn't have even been time enough to actually catch anything…which was good because I don't think we ever used bait or lures or anything of the like. I simply wanted to go fishing, so I guess we took a pole and I probably pretended to fish for about 10 seconds and went onto the next thing…more than likely shopping.
I have never really thought about it, but I just realized they didn't keep many (or any) toys at their house, but we sure found enough things to do. I remember some dirt-old typewriters in an old, dilapidated storage shed at the top of their hill. I loved to go up there and pretend to type. I'm sure I drove them crazy with all the things I wanted to do, but they went along with it.
Gran was a man of many stories. Of course, as I was growing up I figured everything he was recounting was exactly right. I have sense learned that the stories, if true at all, were at the least embellished to the hilt.
Gran was also a man who refused to slow down, perhaps contributing to his long life. He drove his car into his 90s. Also into his 90s, he would come to our house and walk the mammoth dog around the neighborhood. One time, in fact, they bought an ice-cream cone, walked the entire way to the park by the river, and good ole Dylan hopped onto the picnic table and at the ice cream. Ahem… Right.
He was an excellent woodcrafter. Gran made the glass-door bookcase that is built into a wall at my parent's old house. He made a grandfather clock…fitting. And, though my mind is blanking out, many other things.
I miss Gran, but after watching his brothers and sister, his wife, a daughter, and almost all the other family members in his generation pass, it was time for him. His body was done and ready for rest. We all have memories to keep him alive in our hearts, so the peace we have knowing he isn't suffering anymore calms our spirits and helps us through this time.
