my guy
Well, couldn't let today go without a post. Two years ago, my Po died. I remember it all still pretty clearly - it was early, had just gotten out of Damien's bed and my cell rang. And I knew exactly what the call would be. I remember telling MA, posting here, seeing a lucy!fic, being late to work, walking to work in the rain. All of it.
I was cleaning out my closet today and found old old pics of me and Po, from when I was just a little toddler. He had the hugest smile on his face. I also found his old caps. When he came to visit, he'd always tease me and put his hat on my head.
What I wrote here two years ago ended up being his euology. I think it's one of the best things I've ever written. But then again, I had a great subject.
Love you, Po. Miss you a lot. Hope you're having a good time up there with your parents, Elvis, and good food. {{HUGS}}
So in March of 1936, this boy was born. And he was pretty cool. But what was even cooler was that he was going to grow up and become my grandfather. Not by blood, you understand - he was going to enter the picture long after my mom was born, and he wasn't going to enter in the best possible of ways. But by the time I showed up, for better or worse, he had been there for awhile. And we looked into each other's eyes, me all of a few hours old, and we thought, "Hey, I like this person. I think I'll keep them around." And we did. For 21 years, we kept each other around, and it was great. There was this bond that neither of us had with anyone else, that we did have with each other, and we knew it. We cherished it. He was my guy. He always will be.
Po was in a coma. Highly unusual for cancer patients, because it meant they were hanging on so desperately hard. But between 3:30 and 4 this morning, he came out of it. Mom was on night duty, remember. He responded to touch. He lifted his head to see my grandmother better. He actually *swallowed, something he hasn't done in months and months, maybe a year. He had the energy to cough. It was like his body was resting while in this coma so he could properly say goodbye. They listened to Elvis spirituals on cassette. Big lover of the King, you know. And he wasn't exactly talking. But you could see his mouth moving, see that he thought he could be heard, see the intonations. And mostly was he said I was "I love you" to my grandmother. But every time the tape side would end, it would make a clicking noise, and he'd teasingly remind my mother to flip the tape over. It became a little joke with them, she said.
They watched the sunrise together. Mom said it was a spectacular one. Even workers at the hospital came in to watch, before their shifts started. Mom kept saying things like "moments of grace."
He waited until Grammy went into the bathroom. Mom saw and called her back. Grammy was by his side when he passed, at about 7:25 this morning. Daddy called me about 5 minutes later.
It doesn't seem real yet. I'll be typing this, and the oddest bits will get me crying. Like Elvis. Made. Me. Bawl. And the time. The time got me crying. Not the words that he passed. But the time. Makes it more real, I guess.
So, a boy was born in 1936. And he died in 2002. But in between, he did some amazing things. And I will always love him. Because he is my guy.
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