Last week, my mother received news that my grandfather is terminally ill. They don’t think he has much longer to live; days to weeks, maybe a few months at most. Right now, he’s back at home, set up in the living room, because he doesn’t want to die in a hospital. He’d rather go in the comfort of his own home.
My mother offered to fly out to see him again, but he doesn’t want her (or much of anyone) to see him in his current state.
My grandfather and I are not very close. I don’t have the highest opinion of the man. The last time I saw him, prior to this summer’s visit, he said a lot of awful, hurtful things to me. There has never been a time in my life where I’ve known him as anything other than volatile and aggressively confrontational.
But, I’m glad that we went back to see him before the illness took him. Even if he’s not my favorite relative, he is still family, and it was nice to see him while he was still in good spirits and able to move around.
I wish I could have known the man he was before whatever happened to make him the way he is happened. But though I couldn’t, I’m glad at least my last memories of him won’t be vile and painful.
I love you all.