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it's different; i'm different
Jan. 1st, 2026 07:49 pmMy paternal grandpa died this morning, and one of the things I've learned from this is that it's very different to lose a grandparent at 43 than it was at 27, when I lost my maternal grandpa. Both were on hospice before dying, both died at home, both left a widow and kids and a number of grandkids, of whom, in both cases, I was the oldest grandchild, and in both cases my respective parent was the oldest child of the family.
Three things changed: first, my paternal grandpa died at 86 and had years to get used to the fact that his body was failing, unlike my maternal grandpa, who died much younger and had a precipitous collapse. Second, I had the opportunity to say a pretty proper, quiet goodbye to my paternal grandpa—I sat by his bedside on Christmas Day and read to him, told him I loved him, and so on. He couldn't speak, due to the way his illness has struck him, but he was conscious, and I knew he could understand everything I said, whereas my maternal grandpa went from doing quite well to completely zonked out on pain meds so quickly that no proper goodbye was really possible.
The third thing that changed was me. At 27, my grandpa getting sick was pretty much the first time I'd really experienced death directly. My great-grandmas had both died, but one of them had had Alzheimers and died when I was about eight, and I hadn't been near her when she was dying, and the other died of complications from emphysema when I was 16, and I saw her in the hospital and had a very nice goodbye with her, but wasn't there while she was in the active process. I took an anthropology class on death, and I'd had pets die, but I'd never been present when they died.
In the intervening years, I've lost two friends and my own firstborn child. I've read extensively about death and dying because of that same anthropological interest that led me to take the college class, but also to deal with the grief of losing my daughter, and for a million other reasons. I've had therapy, and another child, and approached middle age. My husband and several of my friends have lost parents.
After visiting on Christmas Day, I remember thinking that it would be best if Grandpa passed sometime between then and early January, because he already seemed peaceful but weak. On New Year's Eve, I remember thinking about how people often wait for significant dates, and wondering if I would get the call the next day. And then I got the call in the morning.
On New Year's Eve I went looking through the liquor cabinet (not something I do often—I very rarely drink anymore) to see what we had, and found the last of a bottle of Gun Club Gin, which I'd bought for my grandpa for Christmas a few times in better days, and which he'd said he liked a lot. I thought about finishing it off for New Year's Eve, but set it aside for another time and had a bit of tawny port instead. I made sure it was accessible, though.
Tonight I finished it, in a little brandy-snifter glass with yuja-cha and water. I drank a toast to my grandpa straight, before adding the yuja-cha and water, and hope he can in some way appreciate that as a little way of honoring him.
Three things changed: first, my paternal grandpa died at 86 and had years to get used to the fact that his body was failing, unlike my maternal grandpa, who died much younger and had a precipitous collapse. Second, I had the opportunity to say a pretty proper, quiet goodbye to my paternal grandpa—I sat by his bedside on Christmas Day and read to him, told him I loved him, and so on. He couldn't speak, due to the way his illness has struck him, but he was conscious, and I knew he could understand everything I said, whereas my maternal grandpa went from doing quite well to completely zonked out on pain meds so quickly that no proper goodbye was really possible.
The third thing that changed was me. At 27, my grandpa getting sick was pretty much the first time I'd really experienced death directly. My great-grandmas had both died, but one of them had had Alzheimers and died when I was about eight, and I hadn't been near her when she was dying, and the other died of complications from emphysema when I was 16, and I saw her in the hospital and had a very nice goodbye with her, but wasn't there while she was in the active process. I took an anthropology class on death, and I'd had pets die, but I'd never been present when they died.
In the intervening years, I've lost two friends and my own firstborn child. I've read extensively about death and dying because of that same anthropological interest that led me to take the college class, but also to deal with the grief of losing my daughter, and for a million other reasons. I've had therapy, and another child, and approached middle age. My husband and several of my friends have lost parents.
After visiting on Christmas Day, I remember thinking that it would be best if Grandpa passed sometime between then and early January, because he already seemed peaceful but weak. On New Year's Eve, I remember thinking about how people often wait for significant dates, and wondering if I would get the call the next day. And then I got the call in the morning.
On New Year's Eve I went looking through the liquor cabinet (not something I do often—I very rarely drink anymore) to see what we had, and found the last of a bottle of Gun Club Gin, which I'd bought for my grandpa for Christmas a few times in better days, and which he'd said he liked a lot. I thought about finishing it off for New Year's Eve, but set it aside for another time and had a bit of tawny port instead. I made sure it was accessible, though.
Tonight I finished it, in a little brandy-snifter glass with yuja-cha and water. I drank a toast to my grandpa straight, before adding the yuja-cha and water, and hope he can in some way appreciate that as a little way of honoring him.
