Ode to our Old

I just found out that my friend's grandmother has passed away. I know that this happens to grandparents (and with increasing velocity as the years pile on for us grandchildren), but I also know that this particular granny was remarkably special to my friend. They were close, and she seemed like a truly fantastic person: a smart-as-a-whip, tough old Energizer-Bunny type. I think she was 96 years old. Their relationship is something I, personally, can only partially grip.

I only had one biological grandparent I ever knew, and we were not close. He passed three years ago last month. I have 100 regrets as far as he's concerned; he was another one of those rare amazing people. And I'm not just saying that because he was my Gramps. As a young doctor, he spent a decade treating gnarly backwoods Kentuckians and came through with some damn incredible stories. We actually had a book of his stories published not long before he died.

One of my favorites involves him showing up at a house where he was called to examine this pretty burly (read: fat) teenage girl. He was trying to listen to her lungs and he told her, "Big breaths." She responded, "I know, and I'm only 16." Love that one. Gramps told hands-down the best jokes, the kind that start out as innocent, casual stories and go on and on and on until the punchline. I heard he was cracking jokes until the end. We get together every year and sit around telling jokes and playing music—no one says it, but we all know it's never the same and that it never will be.

I'm sorry I never knew your Granny, Foges. I'm thinking about you, her, and your family. I know you won't get over it, but I hope you are celebrating the life that she lived and all she gave you. I know it was a ton. xo

I painted this watercolor of my Gramps the
week before he died. It hangs in his bedroom.