After such a nice weekend on Saturday, I had to face tears today.

I’ve mentioned my grampa before; he’s 91 and dying. Mostly of old age, but he’s got heart trouble and non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma that they just can’t treat because of his age and condition. I saw him a couple of months ago, and he was as thin as a little bird, but still creeping around.

My dad said that they’ve been asking casual acquaintances not to come because it just wears them out, but that I should go (mom was already there.) So I drove north two hours to pop in on them, but not to stay too long.

Today, I saw him in his jammies for the first time. My grampa, who will wear a suit if it’s 110° out and dresses for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, was camped out in his recliner in his pajamas and bathrobe today. He didn’t feel good enough to get dressed; hasn’t for some weeks as I understand it. He was terribly thin, and had an oxygen tube in his nose.

He’s still in there though, and cracked a few jokes at me. I could see that he was wearing out, so I didn’t stay too long. As i was leaving though, it hit me that this was probably the last time I’ll see him, and I fell apart a little. I ended up in tears out on the front porch, where my poor gramma tried to console me. As if she doesn’t have a heavy enough load!

They’re both exhausted, and getting ready for the end. My mom and my aunt are taking turns staying with them, because if he falls, Gramma can’t get him back up and they have to call the paramedics. Hospice needs to send someone out to spell them at nights, which is when he gets really restless.

I want to say that the women are circling the wagons as the patriarch is circling the drain. It’s a horrible thing to say, but I have a pretty good idea that Grampa would wheeze his little giggle at it if he weren’t so tired and doped up on morphine.

Poor Grampa. I’ll see you in the clearing at the end of the path.