When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced.
Live you life in a manner so that when you die...
the world cries...
and you rejoice.
--Native American Proverb
Early yesterday morning...in a restful sleep...my dear Grandfather "Papa" gently passed on. Born in 1915, he was one of 13 children. (yeah...if you do the math he was 93 years old). He was married to my Gramma for over 67 years, and they had four children...my Momma being the oldest. I am the third of thirteen grandchildren...and my daughter Rhiannon is the oldest of twelve great-grands.
Papa met his death on his own terms. Until a couple months ago, he drove himself...did laundry and cooking....and took all our money at poker. Following a series of heart attacks he chose to let his body take its own course.
I am sitting here in San Jose Airport in the middle of the night...waiting for the first flight out to Indiana. I go to represent my Momma...and the California contingent. I go to celebrate his life....but I go with a heavy heart. It was difficult to leave my Momma...in the midst of her own battles...even with the support of my step dad and my sister. She has kept her secret for quite a while now...but her absence at this time will totally out her.
I have so many memories of my Papa. It's a pretty good bet I'll write some more later.
The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive...perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine.
~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook