The Sunroom

Today would have been my grandfather’s 96th birthday. It seemed fitting that his longtime friend sent me a photo of the church flyer for his upcoming memorial on today of all days.

One of the funniest recent memories of Papa was while we were visiting him at the care facility. He wasn’t at his best, and he was definitely wishing to do things in his own time and not on anyone else’s – but that was difficult given his inability to be independent. At one point after a nap he wanted to get out of bed, and he wanted my help in doing so (I had been helping him with transition, so it wasn’t out of the question).

Unfortunately, the staff had undressed him. So when I told him I couldn’t get him up, he wanted to know why. I replied, “You don’t have any pants on.” His eyebrows shot up, and he exclaimed, “Good night!” It was the same tone I would have exclaimed, “Jesus Christ!” But, of course, his statement was delightfully old-fashioned and endearing and much more charming. We are working to bring this exclamation back into our regular vernacular.

Happy Birthday, Papa. You are missed. You deserve a better memorial than your family has afforded you. I love you.

“Good night, sweet prince, may flights of angels wing you to your rest.”