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Inside my mind-

Perhaps If I’d known this would be my last Independence Day, I would have stayed for the fireworks. Is this a regret? Not really, it’s just a statement made in hindsight. I don’t think I have any regrets come to think of it. My life was full.. Wholesome. Productive. I raised my daughter to be the best human being she could be. I shared 59 years with the only woman who ever turned my head. I bounced grandbabies on my knee and even bounced great grandbabies on my knee. I don’t think there was ever a time when I questioned whether or not I fulfilled my purpose on this earth. I did my best. Still…

Perhaps if I’d known this would be my last Labor Day, I would have damned my limitations and went swimming one last time. Seeing you all bobbing in the pool while I watched, tired, from my chair brought a smile to my face at the time, but maybe a dip was in order. To smile WITH you. To participate. But my old bones kept me on the sideline, and I remained content to observe. Not a regret really, but a wish. Yeah a wish.

Perhaps if I’d have known this was my last breakfast I’d have had something made to order brought in. I mean if death row inmates are allowed to choose what’s on their menu for the final meal, why didn’t I? I like jello as much as the next guy, but I would have REALLY went for an omelet. To lie here prostrate with the taste of bland oatmeal still on my palette is a lot of disappointment to bear. And surely disappointment is not the last emotion I want to feel. I still don’t call it a regret, but really more of an unfulfilled desire.

Most of all though, If I’d have known that this morning’s visit would have been our last, perhaps I would have presented myself differently. A shave, a shower, a fresh change of clothes, all with the aid of a couple nurses, would have been the way to go. To see you this last time, to hug you, to tell you goodbye, to have you remember me in the way I wish to be remembered, that may be my only regret. Instead I lie here, an empty husk in a hospital johnny, watching you stare sadly down on me. With every fiber of my residual being, I am forced to hope that this image is not the one you retain of me in your life’s memories. That when you think of who I was; the life I’ve led, the dreams I had, the goals I accomplished, the love I’ve shared, and the tears I’ve cried; that when you think of ME, it is not this shell that lies frozen before you that comes to mind.

At last they wheel me away. What’s left of me that is.

At last my earthly remains will be attended to only by individuals who hold no meaning for me. Individuals whose memories of me are no more consequential than dust. The dust that I will become.

The cover masks my face.

It hides the physical representation of who I was.

But through my deeds, and through your thoughts, my essence will live on. Perhaps.

(I left what I wrote a couple days ago alone. I did not insert the phrases because I couldn't think where to put them without upsetting the tone at the time I wrote them.

Incidentally, the last "perhaps" is the greatest representation of what I personally fear about death. Not death itself, but that my legacy will be that of a burdensome vegetable and not the laughing individual that most know me as. I shudder to think that I may one day make those I love the most revile me as opposed to revere me)

*note. The phrases are very good ones Sunshine and I am going to use them here in dedication, and in opening a window to me for the viewing of the entire YA community.

I never had a father. And I just lost the one man who came closest to that role ever in my life.

He made me laugh and he made me cry. No truer statement could be said about my grandfather. He had the warmest smile when you behaved and the firmest hands when you did not.

Our laughter outweighed our grief. There was no question that every memory I hold most dear contains the sounds of his laughter and mine, intermingled. Of grief there was plenty, but our way of coping was through laughter.

Since his passing on friday, the memories have flooded my mind. I saw my sister for the first time this weekend and we both discovered that every time we walk by a grouping of photos, we look for grandpa. It's almost a compulsion. And the memories come at all hours and times. It's amazing the things you associate with someone else and don't even consciously realize the association.

This weekend I offered a heartfelt prayer in a tearful moment. Several times. But now I feel at peace. Or rather because of that, I feel at peace.

I am truly blessed. Make no mistake about that. (He said, as his daughter lay beside him, reading a school book, and his son giggled in the other room) I vow never to forget what is truly important.

And one day.....I'm gonna walk with my granddaddy and he'll match me step for step......

(I think we scared everyone off here Sunshine, but thank you for this forum anyway. I'm not often personal on YA or any other public forums because, while I have nothing to hide, my true nature is that of wisearse. But here is the most serious I'm capable of becoming. And it feels good to write these things down....)