For the love of Papa

On Monday morning, after a really long and hard battle with COPD, my grandpa passed away.

This brought to a close two weeks of intensity, including many trips to the hospital, phone calls and status updates from my grandma, battles over hospice vs. no hospice, more battles to make sure grandpa was getting the morphine he needed to help him breathe and to ease his pain...basically, two very long weeks for our family. Because I am lucky enough to now live in town near my grandparents, I was honored to be on the frontlines every day--visiting the hospital, talking to doctors and nurses, and most importantly, spending plenty of time with grandpa in the last few weeks of his life.

The grandpa that I remember from my childhood was always loving but gruff--telling us, in a low voice, when we asked where Mom had wandered to "she went to poop and the hogs ate her". He always had a bag of popcorn stashed by his beat up brown chair that he knew we were sneaking from even when it was 10 minutes before dinner and Mom had told us no snacks, you'll ruin your dinner. He is the only person I've ever met who loved green olives sans martinis, and Spam--although he only ever tortured his own children with his Spam Creations, never his grandchildren.

And while he was gruff, and prone to more growling than talking, he turned to absolute mush when his great-grandchildren came on the scene. Here was the most stubborn, obstinate man who refused to cooperate with a majority of his medical care, being told by his two year old great-granddaughter 'Papa! Take your medicine! It makes you feel better!', and he was finally witnessed cracking a smile. Zoey absolutely loved her Papa, and has absolutely no clue what I'm talking about when I tell her that Papa is now in heaven, and that means we can't see him anymore.

Yesterday, she tromped in to the kitchen in full dress-up regalia, including purple plastic high heels, an inside-out pair of pajama pants acting as a scarf around her neck, red sunglasses, and a badly knit beanie on top of her head. She announced 'I'm weady to go see Papa now!'. Had Papa appeared to her in a dream and asked her to come visit dressed as a bag lady? I told her, again, that Papa is in heaven, we can't see him anymore...but she interrupted, annoyed, saying 'No Mommy! Just a yittle bit! I just want to see Papa for a yittle bit!'.

I know, Zoey. Me too. But I think I'd opt for more comfy shoes.