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today marks the end of an era.

i'm allowed to designate the near 96 year time frame an era, since i'm a historian.

my grandfather died.

people have grandparents, but i had the unique experience of only really knowing/having one. my maternal grandfather died when i was 4-5, and i have vague memories of him, but this grandfather was Grandpa, capital G. he lived with my family for more than my near 27 years. i can't say i was blessed by my proximity to the eternal wisdom that only the elderly possess, but having him live with us certainly helped round me out as a person.

when i was little, he was more of a prototypical grandpa. he was not senile, but had some mental deficiencies, the remainders of a few schizophrenic breaks with reality brought on by years of extreme alcohol abuse. being in his 60s, he was still very active physically, tending to pet guinea pigs and some caged parakeets, and often walking to the store on his own to buy his necessities, which were usually chips and cookies. after having half of his stomach removed due to a bout with cancer, he still managed to ingest the most chemically-packed foodstuffs available. staples included the aforementioned chips and cookies, often eaten slowly and kept in his bedside drawers, unintentionally softening/hardening; Sprite in 2L bottles (also kept beside the bed); and luncheon meat. that sometimes was also kept covertly by the bed. the man must have carefully developed an unwavering resistance to food-borne illnesses and possibly even to parasitic infections. grey bologna was often confiscated.

at this point, he would still play his fiddle and taught me obscure lumber camp-played card games. he had horn-rimmed glasses and already a penchance for hawaiian shirts. if i gave him a kiss on the cheek, he'd dole out a stale but appreciated cookie from his stash.

people were amazed at his agency, during whichever decade of his life they met him. "he's 70?" "he's 80?" "he's 90?" were constant refrains of disbelief. now, it wasn't as if he was doing one-armed push-ups a la jack palance, but perhaps shutting off unnecessary sections of his brain conserved precious energy and lifeforce. never in the years that we travelled, around and around and around the world, on 12-hour plane rides with airport stopovers for more 12-hour plane rides, to hotels and homes did we ever bump to the front of the line, or ride on one of those airport golf carts to get from one gate to another, or did he ever sit in a wheelchair. he walked the miles and miles that we did.

the cancer that was supposed to kill him in 6 months, some 35 years ago, did not come back, though it took his brothers and sisters one by one, as well as a daughter. it returned cautiously in the form of a growth on his face, between his nose and eye, that was summarily removed and stitched back up. i was placing bets on an infection when i saw him, concerned and uncomfortable, touch the stitches with fingers not trained in the art of cleanliness or certifiably germ-free, but a month later there was a barely perceptible scar. he would talk about Sprite power, but i didn't know it was good for healing, too.

to be continued...