Grandpa
Rest in peace, Grandpa. I love you.
Yesterday, I received a call from my dad that my grandpa had passed away. He was 91.
I can't say that any of us were too surprised. Over the past four years or so his health had been steadily declining. He suffered from Alzheimer's for a number of years and it slowly started to impact his memory. For a while, it wasn't even all that noticeable, but eventually he no longer could live alone. It really began to impact his quality of life in the final year. In his last month, he didn't recognize any family.
While it got to the point where he didn't recognize us anymore, he was always the same Grandpa to me. I have nothing but amazing memories with him. He was quick to laugh and joke around with me and my brother. As a kid, he called me “Bozo” for the longest time because of a donkey that I rode when they came with my family on vacation. He cracked up at that joke, and it became our little thing.
He lived in the countryside in Ohio, and during these formative years I would run around, explore the creek, and ride along with him on golf carts around the fields. He would tell me stories about his neighbors, his family, what life used to be like when he was younger and just show me how he lived life in their little town.
Speaking of, Grandpa loved his hometown of Wellington, Ohio. He was a star athlete (something he never let us forget, haha) and knew almost everyone. He and my grandma were both very social. I remember that he had a box full of basketball and baseball trophies in his attic from his glory days as a high school athlete. As a kid I would take them home, proudly putting them on display in my room. I think he liked that I was so into them because being an athlete was a big part of his identity.
When I grew older, in my early 20s, I lived in Cleveland, which was only about 45 minutes away from my grandparent's house. Every now and again, I would drive over to see my grandparents on a Sunday. We'd cook up some burgers, throw a side of potato chips on our plate, and sit on their porch drinking a cold Coors Light. Everytime I think about that, I can feel the sticky heat of the summer and the cold beer can in my hand. It's etched into my memory, and I'm so grateful for it.
When my grandma passed away, my grandpa was a little out of sorts. He cared for her for many years. Truth is, he really depended upon her, even when she wasn't at the same mental capacity as she once was after a health incident. He stuck by her side through it all. Even when she had to move to a home for additional assistance, he visited every day. He brought her chips and little gifts too. He walked the halls with her, and they watched The Price Is Right together, holding hands.
But when Grandma was no longer around, Grandpa needed a change. His house was too much for him, so my parents helped to sell his home, and he moved to an apartment in his hometown. About a year later, it became clear that his Alzheimer's was at a point where he would need more daily assistance, so he moved down to Cincinnati to be by my aunt.
He had three or so years down in Cincinnati, and from our family's perspective, it was quite enjoyable for him. He made friends quickly, enjoyed the prepared meals (he raved about them), and got to be his social self. Something in him changed. He was softer. He was appreciative and kind to everyone.
Grandpa was proud of the fact that he was the longest living male in our family history. And I'm grateful for that. I had him in my life into my 40s, something that is very rare today.
He passed away with my aunt by his side. No pain. No big fanfare. Just quietly his body finally went to rest.
Love you, Grandpa. Give Grandma a hug for me.
Just The Good Stuff
Get ~1 post each month. Zero spam.