Grandpa's girl

It would seem right to me, that sometimes it's best to put my own grieving aside to help someone in deeper grief.

See, my Grandpa is dying. Kind of on purpose, if you ask me. He won't eat, won't take his medicine (which this is nothing new), won't care for his diabetes, and now his kidneys have failed. He refused dialysis. His wife checked him out of the hospital, where they could have at least kept him comfortable until he passes, and took him home.

I hope he makes it until Mr Lemon and I can get there on Friday. I haven't seen him since March '06, and that is my own fault.

Because that opening sentence up there? I feel like I have avoided going to see him because the last time I saw him, he was in a hospital, and I just can't stand seeing him like that. Have I done the right thing by my Mom, and go to see him anyways?

No.

I've been selfish and wanted only to remember him as he was in my childhood. Big, red-faced, nearly bald comb-over and all. Always suspenders, and a truck. He would drive Grandma Betty's Cadillac, but he preferred his truck. Even though he really can't drive, and has had more than one accident because he was too stubborn to admit his driving days were over.

We would stop at every yard sale and flea market he saw. I remember when I was about 5 years old with an Osh Kosh B'Gosh jean jumper, and I had a front pocket on it that somehow managed to get filled with change when he was around. I didn't realize it, and kept hearing this jingling every time I jumped around (which was considerable in those days). So I would stand in one place and jump up and down trying to find the source of this jingle.

Grandpa always had something to show us; a new box of books, the old cemetery on their property, the blackberry patch, a new piece of green glass for Mom. He calls her Theresa with the "Th" as in thumb, not as in Teresa. He said if it has a Th, it should sound like a Th. He calls me ElizaBUTH. I love that!

I'm sad that he will not get to meet my baby, and likely won't remember my name. I don't get a 4 generation picture with him holding a new addition to the family.

I'm glad I asked him for his World War II medals several years ago. That's the only physical treasure I wanted from him. He cried when I asked him for them. He traveled in 40 of the 50 states, plus Iwo Jima.

Their mailbox has an old faded painting of a basset hound. They had one that they rescued, Lucy. Grandpa gave Lucy to Mom years ago, but never got a new mailbox. I love that whenever you leave his house, he is going to give you directions to get home. Even though you got there just fine. Sometimes, if you were coming late at night, he would park his truck at the bottom of the hill with the lights on and wave a flashlight around so you wouldn't miss the drive. And if he knew we were coming, you can guarantee there was a can of black olives for me and Sica each. Some things, only your Grandpa can have for you.

And so, this is my grief. I hope I can get it mostly out of my system to be a strong person for my Mom to lean on. It's just a matter of time now for Grandpa, and I hope I didn't wait too long.