My Grandfather is Dying


Yesterday, Grandpa turned 97-years-old. Nearly 100 years ago, he entered this world. Now, he prepares for his exit.

“That sure looks like my brother Darcey,” my grandpa said today. His eyes gazed at the closet in his room.

A little while later, he said, “Hi mom. Will you stay close to me today?”

The veil between our visual world and the wonders beyond the physical senses is growing thin. It won’t be long.

I spoke via phone to my Grandpa about an hour ago. He was verbally unresponsive but did smile at one point in the conversation. I wanted to be sure he could hear Taber’s voice.

“I love you Grandpa. Love you so much,” said my 3-year-old son.

Musings and meditations on life, love, death fill my being. Soon to pack and head back to the mountains of my youth.

Here’s the most fascinating article I’ve read in awhile about scientific “proof” of an afterlife. Much food for thought. Though today, my grandpa’s words of recognition are proof enough.

My grandfather is dying.

His oxygen rate is 81. He is no longer drinking water. “Only a few more days at this rate,” says the hospice nurse.

I look again at the photo of my father holding sacred and tender space for his dad. The look in his eye, the kindness, the warmth. This holy moment inspires tears of gratitude.

How precious is this life.

My grandfather is dying and by reflecting on this truth, I remember what it means to live.

Precious beyond words

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