A happy reunion...

My grandpa died last Thursday. It has been a sad time. We were always close. I spent a few weeks every summer with him and my grandma. There were visits throughout the year as well. From him I inherited my dry sense of humor, my love of things growing, my tendency to collect and keep things beyond their usefulness, my real laugh. He called me, his sweet girl.

Since my dad died, I have felt even closer to him. He has been, more than before, the father figure in my life. Talking to him was almost like talking to my dad and though our conversations were different, I didn't always tell him everything, I could hear my dad's voice through him. I could hear what my dad would say as if I was actually talking to him. It made losing my dad more tolerable. Now, I will miss those conversations.

My grandpa's death is easier to understand than my dad's. He was eighty-seven, which by most standards is a good, long life. He made it a good life: doing many things, going many places, being many things to many different people. He was ready to go. A few weeks ago he told me, I've been away at school, now it almost time to go home.

I am also comforted by the fact that his death was also a happy reunion. He was reunited with my dad, my Uncle Val (who died a few years before my dad), my Aunt Pauline (who they lost as a baby), his parents, and many others. It too must have been a time of tears, just a different sort. It too must be a time of reflection and memories. I cannot be sad about that.

Happy homecoming, Grandpa.