Memories of My Grandpa

My mom called me this morning to tell me that my grandfather, Paul McCluskey, passed away at 5:17 this morning. At 95 years young and on hospice care for the past few months, it was not unexpected. But still there is that pain of sadness. Sadness to see my father go through losing his dad. Sadness (and fear) about what I will do when it's my turn to go through this. A pain for lost memories of simplier days. Days where my grandfather was the picture of health and the life of the party.

There is also joy. Joy because he lived an amazing life. He was always on the go and an avid golfer until he was 89! He was always a very social man - handsome in the way that Carey Grant and other movie stars from the past were. Dashing. Classy. In fact, after my grandma passed away it was always a running joke with my family about how many "girlfriends" grandpa had at any one time.

There is a joy of precious memories. Every Christmas was spent at his house. The time when he took me and my cousin to his golf club to let us drive the cart. Our 8 year old minds were blown away. I also remember at each and every family meal we'd all hold hands around the table to say the blessing - his favorite joke was to, after the prayer, squeeze your hand until you said "amen." The man had a crushing grip that squeezed tears from my eyes. I may have been 60 years younger, but he was twice as strong.

Sadness and joy. Joy and sadness. Today I feel both. But today I also feel a peace and assurance that this is a blessing. He is in Heaven. He's at perfect peace with a body that will never grow old. But hopefully still with that warm smile and twinkle in his eye that always let me know he was glad to see me.

Thanks for running a good race, Grandpa. I love you.