Papa

Over Christmas, my grandfather moved in with my dad and step mom. He is 84 and was getting to a point where he needed a little extra assistance with things like remembering to take medication, driving, eating healthy and exercising. Since he has been here, he is doing significantly better. He is lucid all the time and so much happier now that there are people around. There was a large part of last year where we did not expect him to survive until this Christmas.

Today, I got a phone call telling me that he was in the hospital. It may have been a stroke, but his heart rate was 40 and they couldn't get it stabilized. I was in the middle of a training session and got up and ran out. I sat in an empty cubicle, my entire body shaking. I was in complete shock and so scared, despite my dad's insistence that he would be fine.

I left work early, picked up the boy, and went to the hospital. He looked so fragile and old in that over sized hospital bed. He was eating lasagna when I walked in and immediately stopped eating because he thought it rude to eat in front of me. I told him he was being silly, to eat, he needed the energy. We sat and talked for a little while; about politics and work, and how he was feeling. He was so angry with my dad and step mom for missing an entire day's work to be there for him. Because he never wants to trouble you. He never wants to be an inconvenience.

It became obvious he was exhausted, so the boy and I left, letting him get some rest, promising to return tomorrow.

I guess you don't realize how fragile people really are, how close you are to losing people everyday. I am not a stop and smell the roses kind of person. But, today made me stop for a second. To stop and think about the man that has been my grandfather for my entire life. The man that loved my grandmother so much, he proposed on their third date. The man who slips me money every time he sees me, because he knows that most of my salary goes to bills, and he wants me to have a little fun. The man who got in a water fight with me on the patio of a bar, sending both of us home soaking wet and laughing hysterically. The man who spends an hour everyday laying out the newspaper and mail perfectly on the counter for when my dad and step mom come home.

He's going to be OK and be back to his old ornery self in a few days, sitting on the deck drinking Disarrono on the rocks and yelling at the golfers. I know that.

I love you Papa. Get better soon.