Passing

"What's he doing?"
"Dad's doing what he loves best," my dad says into the phone. "He's taking a nap."
"Oh."

"I heard if you hold the phone up next to him that maybe I could say something?"
"Oh sure Mol, hang on."

"Ah, you got a head nod out of him."
"That's good. Would you give him a kiss on his forehead for me Dad?"

And so marks the passing of my grandpa. Age 99, and the kindest, gentlest old man, who enjoyed a good smile, and a good snooze, always placing these cut out eye masks over his eyes. I remember as a kid, crawling up on his tummy, his striped pj's poking out from the covers, and my little hands peeling back the navy blue eye shades to sneak a peek at the sleeping blue eyes beneath. "Wake up Grandpa!" Then, as he passed 90, me going into his room, his hair all askew, gently rocking his shoulder, "Grandpa, it's time to get up." "Hurumph... give me ten more minutes." When I think of him, I have a smile on my face. He was a good soul that John Aloysius--the only boy in a handful of many sisters, enjoying family, music in his study, watching us climb maple trees in Connecticut and orange trees in Arizona, pressing fresh oranges when we climbed down. I think of him every time I sit in a poorly lit room with a book tucked in my lap, telling me as a seven-year-old, not to ruin my eyes, "Turn on a light Molly," he'd say, flicking on the light above my head. But mostly, I think my grandpa was just happy living life. He seemed peaceful, jovial, full of memories, be it knitting socks for WWI or asking my grandma to round up some good dates for him and his sailor buddies during WWII (only to decide to be sweet on her afterall). I'm glad he hung around long enough to meet his great grandson, and a little while longer past Gram just to be present as the family lost a wing of their own. It is strange to now have both my grandparents gone on my dad's side of the family. I only have one set left.

But I have felt Gram around and I am sure it will be nice for the two of them, having spent so long in this space together, to meet again, a year in-between. And I applaud my grandpa for making it to 99, as I did my gram for 97, and can only appreciate the gentle way he passed from this world to the next. But he will still be missed, as is my grandma and I imagine I will find myself saying, "I miss my grandpa." Just as I say, "I miss my grandma," from time to time. And that, is just the way life is.