View from my Grandpa’s Door

The yard is misty and the house seems quiet this morning. Yesterday, my Grandpa died as he wanted to: in his bed, in his home. I’m not ready to ponder an afterlife or a life well lived– there will be other times for that. I’m not a saint or a hero– though what we did here was incredibly hard. But what I know is this: we watched the life slip away from his body for months and weeks. And when he finally took his last breath, I wanted to clap for him.

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