Terms

My grandfather – my dad’s father – died about 9 Sunday morning. He was 87.

His end came at the bottom of a long, painful downhill slide. Falls. Injuries. Frustration. Diabetes. Alzheimer’s. Nursing home care. In the past few weeks, he had refused to eat. I’m told that can be a symptom of late Alzheimer’s. The end was peaceful, and not too surprising to any of us.

The guilt comes from having come to terms with the loss before he was gone. His practical usefulness to anyone else ended five years ago, so it’s like he had already “died” in a sense. But he was still a person, still breathing, still feeling. Some more guilt comes from not making it back to see him. I longed to travel the 2,000 miles to show him my son, to see a flicker of joy on his face. To build a few more memories, take a few more photos. Remember some of the old times together. It’s unfair to think he died long ago, but that’s sort of what happened.

So many people say before they are helpless that they don’t want to be a burden. But if we're given enough time on earth, modern medicine provides the ability to keep the body going strong as the spirit starts to fade. By the time they finally let go, we can squint and barely remember the people they used to be. Their distant past is clouded by recent history. A person can live a long time past losing the will to live, too. Grampy had actually said aloud a few years back that he was just waiting to die.

But pushing that aside, I can remember special times and some things I learned from him. He taught me how to sweep debris out of a corner. He never taught anyone how, but he could make a quite realistic cat’s meow without moving his lips (much to the chagrin of fellow elevator passengers and the like). Would’ve loved to learn that trick myself. There are many more examples, most more important but not as colorful.

Going through some old cards and letters a few weeks ago in an effort to clean, I found some rarities among them: two in which Grampy was the only author. Typically, my grandmother dominated written correspondence. At least one of the occasions was when one of her senior-citizen trips corresponded with my birthday. He wrote how proud he was of me, and how he was sure I was doing well. I, of course, kept both cards.

I don’t want any of this to seem cold. I am deeply saddened, not only simply for the loss of my grandfather, but also of the finality it represents. My dad shares many of the same feelings I’ve expressed here, but when death comes, it is truly the end. That makes me sad that my dad lost his dad. That’s not easy to deal with no matter how long you’ve had to think about it. I really don’t want to start thinking about my parents’ mortality, but I already see them failing at times. I am far from coming to terms with that.

“Anyone who is among the living has hope – even a live dog is better than a dead lion! For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing; they have no further reward, and even the memory of them is forgotten. Their love, their hate and their jealousy have long since vanished; never again will they have a part in anything that happens under the sun. Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for it is now that God favors what you do.” – Ecclesiastes 9:4-7 (NIV)