Earlier this week, my only grandfather died.
He had lived a rather long time, and was ready for a rest, so nothing to really be sad about.
I did want to share some anecdotes about my last visit with him:
While my wife and I were hanging out in the hospital room with him, a day nurse came in to take his temperature and blood pressure, standard fare. After gingerly wrapping his left arm and pumping up the arm-squeezer-contraption, the machine fails to make a reading.
The nurse tries again, same result.
She switches to his right arm, tries again and fails to get a blood pressure reading again.
My grandpa deadpans “maybe I’m dead” making the nurse visibly uncomfortable, while shooting my wife and I a wry smile while she’s looking away nervously.
Grandpa wasn’t terribly pleased with the food and level of service at the hospital. He was incredulous after being given diet chocolate pudding, remarking “what the hell is the point?”
On another occasion, after waiting a rather long time to receive a bottle of grape juice from a nurse, he snarked “..did you have to stomp them yourself?”
He made up for his smart-ass remarks with his typical flirting and sweet talking. Having been married three times (outlived two wives, divorced the third), my grandpa had more game on his deathbed than I have had at any point in time.
With his mobility drastically reduced, he relied on family members to bring the cup of soda or juice to him when he was thirsty.
After not being able to perform the drink-duty to his satisfaction, he said “as a grandson, you’ve done great; as a nurse, well…” He then just asked one of my aunts to perform the duty.
Grandpa was a funny guy.