Thank you, thank you Stevie, for your words, for letting me get to know your father … a little bit … What a wonderful man. Capable, to the very end, of deep and wrenching soul-growth. No other words. Just thank you for sharing him. You do honor to him.
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Thank you, Sheila :) When I think about him, I’m struck with the hopeful idea that if an 87-year-old man had the willingness and capability to grow in his understanding of himself and his loved ones, then maybe so could I. He was a good man. xxx Stevie
Damn, Stevie. Where’s my Kleenex!? That was beautiful.
It reminded me of my grandfather (I’ve told this story before, I know.) when my uncle was dying of AIDS. This was in 1988, the height of the frenzy, and my uncle was in “hospice.” That word didn’t have the same meaning as it does now. There was no gentleness, no easing of pain — only hazmat suits for the nurses and a big red PRECAUTIONS sign on the door of his room. The 80s version of the Scarlet Letter, I guess.
My burly boilermaker grandfather, who worked in iron and steel and had the hands to prove it, sat day after day — ungloved and unmasked — spooning ice chips into the mouth of his youngest child. Comforting Diego, my uncle’s partner, in his grief. Acting like I never in a million years thought he would.
Lisa – your story made me cry too.
God bless him.
Oh Lisa, it’s a revelation to see unexpectedly compassionate, heroic acts from someone like that. Your grandfather was a wonderful man. Gulp. They just don’t make them like that anymore, do they? xxx Stevie
Well, Stevie, I would have to disagree with your last comment- they don’t make’em like that anymore. They made you, after all. Your one of the good ones.