Melting

The snow on the hill behind the house is going away.

My grandpa died today. He was 99 years and 3 months old. My heart aches. I can't stop crying. He was my last grandparent.

My uncle called just before 10 this morning with the news. Once I heard my phone buzzing, I knew what it was. Bruno knew that I was upset and got up from my feet and sat on my face. He meant well, but he's a goofy puppy.

I loved my grandpa. We were close and got even closer the years I lived in Arizona again. My absolute favorite memory of him was the time we flew in a B-24. I had never seen him happier. That was so fun. He flew in those bombers during World War II, and that was the first time he'd been in one in 70 years. My uncle said the photo album I sent him was sitting next to his bed when he died. That makes me feel good.

Ninety-nine years is a long time. He had a great life. He was sharp and in good health right to the end. Even when he wasn't supposed to walk, he'd still get out of bed and sit in a chair the last few weeks. I am glad I got to do a couple of video chats with him in his final weeks.

I emailed my supervisors and managers at work to say I can't come in today or tomorrow. I felt a little guilty at first because we're a bit short staffed for the holidays, but I wouldn't be able to help anyway. We get bereavement pay too. This is what it's for. I need time to myself.

There will not be a service. He didn't want one, pandemic or not. That's fine. I think attending virtually would be strange anyway. I am going to figure out ways to celebrate his life by doing things he enjoyed. I might get a fishing license in the spring since fishing was his favorite hobby. I also should watch some San Fransisco Giants baseball games when the season starts again. Maybe I'll eat eggs, sausage and hash browns every day for breakfast for 30 years. Ha ha!

Thanks for everything, Grandpa. I love you.