End of an Era

Today, I lost my grandfather. Though his life had been dragging along for some time now, the ending happened all too quickly. An email from my father saying he had been taken to the hospital for an infection. Less than an hour later, a phone call, letting me know he had moved on from this world. As I sat there on the phone with my father, my grief became more for him than anything else. My grandfather had gotten his wish, he would now be with his wife that had left him some years earlier. His passing had become his only goal. But my father had always been the one trying to get my grandfather engaged in his own life once again. He wanted to see his father strong and full of life, not helpless and uninspired in a cold nursing home bed. As I was given the details of the events leading up to the passing, I kept trying to ask my father if he would be ok. Such simple words, but incredibly difficult for me to get out. Impossible for me to get out. I did not want any silence on the phone, I did not want a turn to speak. On one hand, I wanted to be strong for my father, didn't want him to know how I was breaking apart on the inside. But on the other, I just could not handle him telling me the truth. Plain and simple, my father is my hero. Always has been, always will be. And when he shows hurt and vulnerability, it cuts deeper than any knife. His voice grew shakier as he explained how he would be bringing the ashes back up to New York, to be laid atop those of my grandmother, and I fought back the tears with every ounce of strength I had. Just as I feared, the conversation was quiet now. I took a few deep breaths, and I thought of the right words to say. I thought about what his hero would have said to him. And then, with my eyes squeezed tightly, I asked him those very simple words, "are you going to be ok?" He said he would, but I knew the answer long before I struggled to get out the words. The conversation needed to end, my heart was breaking, and my strength was near its end. I told him that I loved him, closed the call, and allowed myself to stop being strong. Rest well PopPop, and tell Nana I love her...