My grandpa died overnight. 2 a.m. CST. His heart attcked him, see. This was after his kidneys had failed him, his left leg abandoned him, the body had such a tift with insulin that they never became compatible again, and a blood clot travelled into his brain an killed off most of his right hemisphere. My mom and dad were telling me that he'd been taking short, shallow breaths. Try breating 70 times a minute. For 36 hours while your lungs are drowning in themselves.
The thing was, he'd been asking to die.
But the thing with the kidneys is that when they fail, and dialysis stops working, you start to act a little demented. So my mom and her mom and brothers and sisters had to wonder whether he was really ready to die or if it was just some demented rambling.
I guess he got his way.
It was sort of weird, before he died major parts of his catalogue of interests and experience disappeared. He didn't know that he used to sunbathe constantly. He didn't know that wrestling was his favorite sport. He had forgotten WWII. My mom got him a book about it. My grandpa opened up the book to a picture of a Nazi. He then looked at my dad and asked him where his picture was in this book.
It makes me wonder if I'll forget my life before I die. It makes me wonder who will remember for me.
We're not quite sure when the memorial service and cremation will take place.