My sweet, funny, kind hearted, smart aleck, Big Baldy of a Grandpa passed away yesterday morning at the age of 83. We had known it was coming for awhile - it's been almost eight years since he had his stroke, and things were beginning to slow down, and he was ready to go. He went peacefully with my grandma, aunt and uncle with him.
I knew it was fairly imminent, but when my dad called to tell me, it suddenly felt like something inside of me was ripping open with the sad reality of the fact that he's gone. That I couldn't go and visit him if I wanted. That I won't ever hear him tease me or tell me I'm "such a girl" again. I feel like I've got some disbelief going on - and possibly because it's hard to wallow with two little ones keeping me busy - I anticipate that I'll be more of a mess when we actually get home at the end of April for the funeral. He had a good life though, well lived, and got to watch his kids and his grandkids grow up, and meet a couple of great grand babies. So I am mostly focusing on that, and enjoying reminiscing with my family. Grandpa certainly was a character, and one of his best attributes is that he was always able to laugh at himself. No one seemed to enjoy the "impressions of Grandpa" more than Grandpa himself.