Farewell Grandfather

My father called me this evening (Monday evening) just after 8:00 to tell me that my grandfather died Monday morning. Yes he was 89, but I'm a bit shocked. The funeral is next Monday - in Stillwater, Oklahoma.

I knew I should have sent my daughter's picture. Dangit. He was the last of my living grandparents.

He and my father had an ongoing battle over something; never did get the gist of that.

My father says he's not going back there for the funeral. But I feel like I need to. I'll have to contact my brother tomorrow (later today) to see what he's going to do.

My boss is going to be furious. And I already resent that. As if there isn't enough for me to fret about.

Both my grandmothers died within a few months of each other a couple of years ago. Neither of those hit me like this. What is so different this time? I wasn't any closer to my grandfather than I was to either of my grandmothers. Do you think it's because he was the last grandparent?

When I was in Tucson, Arizona a few years ago for Ernst, my grandfather took me to Tombstone and we saw a re-enactment of the shootout at the O.K. Corral. He drove too fast and could barely see over the wheel of his big station wagon. That was the last time I saw him.

He had my daughter's picture up on the wall of his apartment. An 8 x 10 of her when she was four. I guess I wasn't too good at keeping up with sending pictures then either. My mother always made us as kids send the big pictures to the grandparents under the theory that their eyes weren't as good as younger people's were. My daughter's picture and those of the other great-grandkids that were as big (8 x 10) were the only ones on the wall. There were four. Out of six families' worth. I'm glad I listened to at least that much of what my mother said.

I miss him. I'm surprised at that. But I do miss him.

[originally composed 11/18/03]