My dad's dad is the last of my four original grandparents living. He's ninety something years old, has a second wife ten years his junior (go Grandpa!), and his doctor told his wife and my parents yesterday that grandpa only has two to six weeks left to live.

Grandpa fell in Memorial Day. I imagine he was in his VFW approved uniform at a Memorial service at the cemetery even though he's too frail to participate in the honor guard anymore (not that you can day that where he can hear you because Grandpa will hear none of that horseshit, thank you very much). He broke his femur near his hip and had to be hospitalized. They found bleeding on his brain and at first we all hoped it was from the fall.

Grandpa has stage IV cancer in his brain.

He's been sick for years. Colon cancer nearly a decade ago, melanoma two years ago. We've treated every Christmas and visit with Grandpa as if it was the last.

And this time it may very well be.

Getting ready to pack for a last minute trip home. We'll drive nine hours across Colorado and Kansas tomorrow and visit my Grandfather at his new nursing home, check in with Grandma and my parents, then turn around and drive home on Tuesday or Wednesday.

The next time I go home will most likely he for the funeral.

I've been ready for this and yet I'm not.
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Miss Miah

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