Ninety five

Ninety five years is a long time. A very long life to lead. My grandfather was 95 and a half when he passed away on July 9th.

For years and years he would say "I want to live to 100." But towards the end he didn't say that anymore.

He was married to my grandmother for 44 years before she passed. He served in the U.S. Army AirCorp during World War II. He owned and ran an Exxon service station for 31 years...even tho he never worked on a single car himself. He was a Philadelphia Phillies season ticket holder for 50 years and a lifetime member of the Holmes Fire Company.

He was also a family man. Seven children, 19 grandchildren and eight great grandchildren.

Golf was his favorite past time. Up until a few years ago he was playing twice a week. He had tommy john surgery in his 80s so that he could keep his golf game alive. Jimmy five wood my cousin Andrew called him.

His sense of humor and his quick wit, always ready with a joke or a snappy comeback, is something I'll always remember. For years and years he played Santa at my Uncle's gas station. Everyone would go up and get their pics taken with him.

Summers were always spent at Gpops house...after all, he had the pool. The kids, the grandkids, we'd all be there swimming and playing and bbq'ing.

Ten years ago I moved away. I'd visit several times a year and every time I went home I'd make sure I saw him. And then work changed and while I could still go home for Christmas, I was never able to stay for his birthday party. And then this last year I even missed Christmas and his 95th birthday. My last memory of him was at Aunt Barbara's house for dinner and he didn't remember me right away when he walked in.

I hadn't seen him in almost a year. In that time his health declined. He had a mini stroke and several "heart episodes" aka most likely small heart attacks. And still I didn't make it home. A few weeks ago he went back into the hospital and before he was released the decision was made to put him on home hospice care. And still I thought to myself I don't need to go home yet, the christening will be in October, they've given him 6 months, I can see him then.

Just a few days into hospice care, they needed to break into his emergency meds. Valium, morphine and some others were administered. My dad called. "I think you should come home in the next two weeks," he said. Was it really that bad? Were we really there already? You just told me six months and now I'm hearing 12 days?! So the next morning I looked into and bought a flight. I was set to go home the following weekend. Later that night I got the news. Gpop was gone.

I spent the next two and a half days, save for one brunch with a friend, alone in my apartment filled with grief and red wine. The only thing I really remember from that time is going through box after box of tissues and multiple bottles of wine.

I flew home on Sunday and went straight to dinner at Gpops house with 30ish family members. Monday and Tuesday are kind of a blur, but I will never forget Wednesday and Thursday. The viewing was Weds, a private family affair in the early afternoon followed by an open session in the evening. It was a long night. Thurs we were at the funeral home for one last viewing before the funeral service at 10am. The service was beautiful. I had the first reading, twin gave the eulogy and cousin Doug sang the Ave Maria. The pallbearers (male grandkids) and most of the rest of the grandchildren wore Phillies hats at the cemetery to honor Gpop. I will never forget it and yet I still don't believe it happened. How can this man, who has always been there, be gone when I never had the chance to say goodbye. I chose not to come home. I chose not to see him. And I will remember that forever.

He was a good man but not a perfect man. We all have our flaws. But he was my Gpop and I'll love him forever.