Not a Goodbye...A See You Later

     In late-October of 2019 I went out to Arizona with my dad to visit my grandfather. It had probably been around a year and a half since I last saw him and probably about six months since we last spoke. Not because we were fighting (and hopefully not because I’m a bad grandchild), it was just that his hearing was so bad that our conversations mostly involved me shouting as loud as I could into the phone. I would often go to a faraway corner of the house in an effort not to disturb others when we would talk. In his defense, he was almost ninety-eight and the few fibers/nerve endings he had remaining in his ear canal were basically shot.

     My dad had spoken with him a few weeks before planning the trip and my grandfather told my dad that he, “Had something he wanted to tell him and something he had to give him.” Those were pretty ominous words I thought, so we made arrangements to go out as quickly as possible without spending a ridiculous amount of money. After some searching online and some back-and-forth over the phone with my dad we booked our flights. We flew out early on the 24^th of October – getting us in around 10am local time.

     After landing we headed to the rental car place, got our transportation, and drove about 20 minutes to the retirement home where my grandfather was staying (a short five minute trip from where my uncle lives in Scottsdale.) My dad and I got there around 11:30, signed in and walked down the resident hall to my grandfather’s door. My dad knocked. Waited a minute. Knocked again as my dad opened the door. The room was empty, so, since it was around 11:30, we headed to the dining area to see if he was eating lunch.

     When we first walked in, neither my dad nor I spotted him. Then, as we walked a few steps in I tapped my dad as I pointed, “Is…is that him?” He wasn’t sure at first, but as we moved closer, sure enough it was. My grandfather smiled as soon as he saw us (which was a great sign), but he had changed so much since the last time I had seen him. He looked like he couldn’t have weighed more than 120 pounds – his pants were bunched up and held up with the assistance of his belt. As I gave him a hug I could feel the bones in his shoulders and the details of his spine.

     Over the remainder of that day and the following my dad and I spent most of the day and evening with him. We sat outside – three generations enjoying the warmth and sunshine on our bodies – until grandpa got too warm and needed some shade. We sat in his room. But most of the time grandpa would nap. When he would wake we’d get a lot of the same questions he asked us the last time he was awake.

     We flew out on the red-eye flight that Friday (or technically Saturday morning), but before we left for our flight we took some pics, gave a hug, and we said, "See you soon." There was a somberness when we left; almost like we lingered a little longer outside his door. When we got back to Detroit early Saturday morning and drove home, my dad told me, “I can’t thank you enough for doing that. There’s no way I could have done that on my own, so, thanks for booking everything.” I told him, “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad we got a chance to see grandpa.” I think deep-down we both knew that would probably be the last time.

     About six weeks after our visit my grandfather went to the hospital for pneumonia. Not in the traditional way we think. His esophagus muscles were getting pretty weak, so when he would eat small food particles were travelling into his lungs. The doctor had provided my uncle a few options, but Hospice care seemed the best under the circumstances. A couple of days later he passed peacefully in his sleep with my uncle there. There was no funeral, no service. The body was sent back to the cemetery here in Detroit where we had buried my grandmother four years earlier. His body was cremated as he wished, placed into an urn, and the tomb where my grandmother was lying was opened. The cemetery workers placed is urn inside and resealed it. My dad was the only one there to witness it.

     The strange thing is I didn’t cry. Not because I wasn’t sad. Not because I wasn’t going to miss him. I think not going through the process of a visitation, service, procession and final burial prevented me from feeling the usual emotions accompanied with the loss of a loved one. But in a way, it still feels like he’s off in Arizona and one day I hope to have the chance to see him again. Does it seem strange that I feel like that? I know he’s gone, but it doesn’t feel like he’s really gone. To me it just seems like he’s living in another state. 

     I’m lucky though when I think about it. I had an opportunity to know both my grandparents on my dad’s side when I was an adult. I had the chance to spend time with them and talk about real-life things. I got to hear stories of them when they lived in Missouri. Got to hear stories about their life as young parents. Hear the funny things my grandfather did to his co-workers when he was the Building Superintendent for Blue Cross Blue Shield. They told me about the times they shared with friends, family, and neighbors. They weren’t just grandparents, they were people that lived lives filled with everything along the emotional spectrum. While it was a different time and the world was a different place, they weren’t all that different from me and I them.