and so, another member of my family crosses over to the other side. my grandfather died early this morning. luckily, and through some stroke of fate, we were already at my parents' house on another errand and were here with my sister, who would have been alone otherwise; our parents are, or were, in San Diego.

i was dizzingly sad this morning, detatched and sleepy. in fact, when my sister woke me up and told me the news, after 45 minutes of being awake, i was back in the bed again, curled next to Husband and listening to his even breathing, half wishing it all to be a dream.

now, the crippling grief has been replaced by an abrasion-like heartbrokenness. it hurts. it keeps reopening in a slight, almost absentminded way. my grandfather is usually not on my mind, in all truth: he was no muss, no fuss. not complicated, not unhappy. sometimes a little under the weather, but otherwise active and himself. he was a man with something up a tumultuous past, who mellowed into a kind and sweet grandfather who was proud and quiet, but also mischevious and droll. his laughter was a sideways sort of thing and he laughed easily.

i think about the conversation i had with him on Thursday; i called to wish him Happy Veterans Day. he sounded good to me: healthy. sometimes, when i spoke to him on the phone, he sounded tired. but this time, this last time i would hear his voice, he was downright upbeat. he'd had a productive day, he said, mowing his neighbor's yard.

"Yeah," he said. "He's bedridden, so I went over and mowed the grass."
"that's too bad," i said. "it's good of you to help him out."
"I just do what I can."

when i spoke to my grandmother later in the day today, i fought back tears and laughed about the goings-on here, trying to be as cheerful and hopeful as possible; she loves to hear all about what we're up to, no matter her mood. even still, her words sounded hollow in my ear. she was clearly in shock, relieved to hear from me, but sad. she said he got up this morning, dreadfully early like always, took his shower and got dressed, then went down into the living room and sat in his chair.

and he stayed right there.


i can only, honestly, pray that everyone could go that way: to be in your right mind and more or less healthy and happy until the moment that it's time to leave. and then, to simply depart for points unknown, leaving only the memories you made and none of the heartache of illness and deterioration, the slow death, the eventual guilty relief of release.

my life flashes back at me with a thousand visits and chuckles with him. the absence aches a bit with the difference in his presence; i do not doubt that he can hang around as long as he likes, looking in on whomever he chooses, but the difference in his spiritual boundary leaves me with a longing.

i will miss his smell, his laughter, his humility, his humor and that twinkle in his eyes.