My Grandfather
It looks like I missed the window.
My father called me from Ontario. My Grandfather has been given anywhere from a few days to a few weeks.
He said it's like he hung on to see his Great Grandson and then gave up. Nothing else for him on this earth.
One Sunday he has Dresden on his lap, the next, he's not eating, drinking and can't acknowledge anyone around him.
He always said he'd rather die than go into long-term care.
Now they're planning Palliative care.
He has Parkinson's. And a query on cancer as well, but he refused to find out.
Dad said even if I flew down there this week he's doubtful he'd even know who I was.
Perhaps I'll fly down to the funeral.
I'd rather see people alive than dead, but if he doesn't know who I am, then it would break me.
My grandfather built the grandmother clock in my apartment for my wedding.
I love my grandfather. I don't think I can express how much he means to me.
John knows what he means to me. He knows I think the world of him.
He and my grandfather used to go off to the work shed for hours to work away at one thing or another.
The last time John saw him to say goodbye, my grandfather cried.
It kind of sucks knowing the end is basically here and John isn't around.
I'm not sure why I think of that.
I've only been to one funeral in my life, back in high school. My mother's mother. And we weren't that close.
Now I feel so badly that I haven't been able to go down to Ontario to see him.
He was in training to be a Bomber Pilot when WWII ended. He used to tell me how disappointed he was at the time that he wasn't able to get over there. He did research for himself about Bomber raids, finding old photos, mapping the raids out.
He fixed old tractors for museums and farm shows. Bright green and red ones.
We'd go for airplane rides in his little plane. We'd spend hours and hours and endless summers at the cottage, on the Cicada (their big boat), swimming, catching sunfish... picking corn out of their garden, squishing potato bugs, checking the electrical fence... sitting on the porch looking out over the lake...
One summer, when I was a kid, I remember saying something about wanting to learn how to dance.
But when he came to teach me, I was embarrassed or didn't want to anymore, and I hid from him.
I don't know why I did that.
I think about that a lot.
My father called me from Ontario. My Grandfather has been given anywhere from a few days to a few weeks.
He said it's like he hung on to see his Great Grandson and then gave up. Nothing else for him on this earth.
One Sunday he has Dresden on his lap, the next, he's not eating, drinking and can't acknowledge anyone around him.
He always said he'd rather die than go into long-term care.
Now they're planning Palliative care.
He has Parkinson's. And a query on cancer as well, but he refused to find out.
Dad said even if I flew down there this week he's doubtful he'd even know who I was.
Perhaps I'll fly down to the funeral.
I'd rather see people alive than dead, but if he doesn't know who I am, then it would break me.
My grandfather built the grandmother clock in my apartment for my wedding.
I love my grandfather. I don't think I can express how much he means to me.
John knows what he means to me. He knows I think the world of him.
He and my grandfather used to go off to the work shed for hours to work away at one thing or another.
The last time John saw him to say goodbye, my grandfather cried.
It kind of sucks knowing the end is basically here and John isn't around.
I'm not sure why I think of that.
I've only been to one funeral in my life, back in high school. My mother's mother. And we weren't that close.
Now I feel so badly that I haven't been able to go down to Ontario to see him.
He was in training to be a Bomber Pilot when WWII ended. He used to tell me how disappointed he was at the time that he wasn't able to get over there. He did research for himself about Bomber raids, finding old photos, mapping the raids out.
He fixed old tractors for museums and farm shows. Bright green and red ones.
We'd go for airplane rides in his little plane. We'd spend hours and hours and endless summers at the cottage, on the Cicada (their big boat), swimming, catching sunfish... picking corn out of their garden, squishing potato bugs, checking the electrical fence... sitting on the porch looking out over the lake...
One summer, when I was a kid, I remember saying something about wanting to learn how to dance.
But when he came to teach me, I was embarrassed or didn't want to anymore, and I hid from him.
I don't know why I did that.
I think about that a lot.