~Psalm 116:15
My Grandpa passed away on January 2, 2014 after a brief illness.
It's very difficult to watch the strongest person you've ever known reduced to a bed-ridden patient in a hospital or nursing home. Until the end of September, he was still the indestructible force that our family had all come to respect. Maybe (and I hate to play the what-if game, but still it's there) if he hadn't been so tough, so stubborn, so irreproachable we could have forced him to seek treatment for what ailed him earlier.
But we couldn't. We just...couldn't.
He suffered long enough, by anyone's standards, and I feel in the end our prayers were answered and he went peacefully while in a deep sleep. The only thing that will probably always haunt me is that no one from the family was with him when it happened.
The boys and Little One all got to visit him at least once during his lengthy hospital stay (Oldest Boy more than once). The visits with him were all pleasant, as he was mostly himself and joked and chatted with all of them. Baby Girl, however, was "too shy" (her words) to go in with me to see him and it bothers her. A lot. So much so that she wrote him a note during Mass on the Sunday after he had passed:
I'll translate:
"Dear Grandfather (no one ever called him that - I don't know why she did),
I know you died already thow (though) I didn't get to see you! No matter, I know I have lots of picheres (pictures) of you! Anyway I am writing this to you because I didn't get to see you and and? I love you.
Love, Baby Girl"
We buried it with him.
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| Christmas Eve, 2009 |
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