Yesterday was a very sad day.  My grandfather passed away.  I could go into detail about what he went through leading up to it, but I can't rehash all that.  All I can say is that I am not sad for him at all-- he is finally out of pain and is reunited with his wife of almost 60 years (before her death in 2002).  I am sad for those of us who are left behind.  My father dedicated the last several months to helping Big Grandpa with all of his doctor visits.  He drove him there much of the time and took diligent notes in each visit to make sure that all avenues were explored, everything was understood, and no medications interacted.  When Big Grandpa went into the hospital 3 weeks or so ago, my dad was there from sunup to well past sundown most days.  When the end was near and Big Grandpa wanted to go on his own terms, my dad brought him home to be at peace, comforted by those he loved without the interference of IV tubes and the oppressive sounds and smells of a hospital.  Aunt Taffy was the relief pitcher, sharing whatever she could of what needed to be done:  rotating in on the doctor visits, staying at the hospital and cooking up a storm because that is one of her very best talents.  She even stuck with her original plan and cooked dinner last night after Big Grandpa was gone... I understand why she did, too.  When something like this happens, you have to keep as busy as you can with normal things so your heart doesn't come right out of your chest.  I should also mention that two of my grandfather's other children came in from out of town to be here... I've just suddenly hit that point where I can't write about this side of it anymore.  Please, don't let anyone take it as someone being slighted.
    I have to write now about the man I knew who meant so much to our family.  I saw his high school yearbook last night for the first time.  It had a few descriptive words under each person's name next to their photo.  Big Grandpa's caption identified him as a "jolly reveler".  Truer words have never been spoken.  Twentysomething years ago, he and my beloved grandmother played Uncle Henry and Auntie Em to my Dorothy, participating in years of make believe with me.  He enjoyed holidays tremendously, taking on roles from Santa Claus to the Easter bunny... I don't think I had the slightest idea it was him until long after those days were over!  He was quick-witted, always valuing finding humor in any situation.  He was a fantastic lover of music with a particular passion for show tunes.  He was never shy to sing aloud whatever melody was passing through his head.  I also remember him introducing me to 'Peter and the Wolf' as a child.  He and my grandmother lived in Florida for about 15 years, but I never lost that close feeling with them.  They visited us on occasion and I got to visit them, including a time when I went to Florida on vacation with my mom and stepdad to visit my stepdad's mother (my mom saw fit to find a way to meet up with her ex-in-laws so I could spend the day with them).
    After they moved back to the midwest and my grandmother passed away, we all worried for a while we would lose him as well, his grief was so great.  Eventually, though, he found his way in the  world without her, becoming especially involved when my children were born.  He went with us on so many of our expeditions, from the zoo to visiting Santa at Christmas time.  He always came up with the most thoughtful presents for my girls, which always impressed me.  How did a man in his eighties who always had a wife to rely on for those times come up with just the thing that a little girl would go nuts over?  Man, my girls sure thought he hung the moon.  They went with me for most of my almost daily visits to the hospital, which I was nervous about at first.  Would they be in the way?  Would they be scared to see Big Grandpa so sick?  The answer to both of those questions turned out to be "No".  Big Grandpa seemed to light up when they came in the room, and they acted like nothing was different.  Ladybug is far too young to have any idea what was happening, but I had been telling Baby Duck about him being sick.  After he left the hospital to do home hospice care from my father's house, I finally felt like I should explain to Baby Duck that Big Grandpa was probably not going to get better.  I've rambled long enough, so I won't go into detail about this conversation.  Let me just say that her profound depth at not even 5 years old astounds me.  She is handling his death very well... and I don't mean she's fine and dandy and must not get what has really happened.  I mean she is very open about how this is making her feel and is dealing well with feelings as they arise.
    I could say so much more about such a special person, but this has already become quite lengthy.  I apologize for the scattered, disorganized nature of this entry.  This blog is known in my family as my "Brain Dump" and today there was just no energy left for sorting.

CL