Two weeks in brief

Two weeks ago:

I received word that after 93 years, 15 days of good life, my Grandmother passed away.

It's hard. She's the furthest back I can go for knowing who my ancestors are personally. She and my mom's dad divorced back in the 'good old days' of the 1940s (when 'nobody' did that type of thing). It's kind of a secret that slowly eeked into common knowledge. So much so that I was out of college before I had been able to place most of it together.

She's the one that hosted elaborate dinner parties, with name cards for each guest ... good silver ... and good cooking.

I'm sad she never met my niece. But, very fortunate that each of her cousins, my children, were able to meet her, at least the oldest will be able to remember.

One week ago, I sat in a retirement community with Grandpa.

In February, he'll turn 91.

Last year, the youngest and I flew to celebrate his 90th birthday.

He and grandma were married for 57 years. Genetically, there is no direct relation. But you know, that doesn't matter. At all.

He opened his home to us when mom lost the house to foreclosure in the early 1980s. We lived with the two of them for about 8 months straight, and then again for three months in the summer.

We sat and we chatted about those times ... the massive amounts of popcorn we ate ... the, the, generosity of his heart.

We chatted as we sat, both avoiding the fact that it would, very, very likely be the last time we saw each other. It was only a half hour, but I relished each second.

He loves each of our grandchildren. He holds family and those relationships as the highest priority.

He complimented chickadee's and my children for being well behaved ... well mannered ... and just good children.

The weest one gave him a hug and a kiss ... the middle one slept ... the eldest took pictures.

I took in the conversation, the precious minutes and seconds.

Then, he nodded a bit, ready for a nap.

We hugged, the only type of hug a six foot tall man can give a nearly 91 year old who is weak from losing his spouse of 57 years ... the type of hug where you're afraid to squeeze too hard because you think someone might break ... but the type of hug where you don't want to let go, so you memorize the roughness of an unshaven cheek, the light peck on the cheek, and the "thank you" repeated two or three times as you pull away, and look in their eyes.

We left and he stayed.

It was difficult.