Goodbyes..

As I sat today and watched my grandpa breathe his labored breathes and try to suffer through the pain, because he wanted to be coherent and say goodbye to family and not take any of his pain medications, and as he tried to tell us his goodbyes, I realized that I was being selfish. I didn't want him to go. I didn't want his life to be just memories in my heart and mind. I didn't want for my kids to feel the pain of losing a loved one. I didn't want to explain to my 3 yr old what dying meant. I didn't want my older two to feel that pain and hurt, the confusion and all the questions that life drops on you when you lose someone you love. I am selfish. I want him to fight death and fight a losing battle, just so we can have him here a little longer. He wants to "go home." He wants to go see Uncle John. And he doesn't want to be in a constant state of pain. I need to let go. I need to help my kids understand that letting go is okay. I need to hang onto my kids tight just a minute too long, and let them know that you can't always be too tough to cry. That crying is good for their soul and that eventually the pain will go away. I need to help my 3 year old understand that Papa is not getting better this time. I need to hug my family, aunts, uncles and cousins. I need to talk to my sister in Arizona. As I sit here and think if I should walk down one last time, even though it's almost 10 pm, I know they are still there with him. I wonder if my mom or one of my aunts or cousins will be by his side when he takes that last breath. I wonder if he is at peace. He decided a couple weeks ago that he wanted no more treatment, no more pain meds, and I wonder if there was anything we could have done. I wonder how much pain he feels. I wonder if he hears us tell him goodbye and tell him we love him. Does he know all the memories I have of him in my life. Does he know that every summer I think about all the summers we spent at the lake, on the pontoon, eating ribs and all the little blue gills we would catch off his dock. I can still see my mom and aunts "popping" shrapnel out of his back and shoulders as it would work it's way to the surface of his skin 30 some years later... Does he know how much I loved those summers? Spending time swimming at the island, learning to water ski, laying in the sun on the raft, and fishing off the dock. Does he know how much my kids will miss "Papa?" Will my 3 year old appreciate all the time he spent with Papa the first three years of his life, and how much he was Papa's "Boy." Does he know that every memory of him I see that grin and that half chewed cigar that he always had in his mouth? Does he know how much it meant to me that my first Christmas away from home, in San Diego, he drove to pick us up, and then drove us around for hours just trying to find someplace open to have Christmas dinner? Does he share the same memories? As he lays there in his unconscious mind does he see us, his family as we are and were? I hope so, because as weird as family can be sometimes, they are still good, and the memories get better with time, as the good memories stay with you and the not so good ones tend to drift away. And, now, I think I can say goodbye. It still hurts like hell, and the lump in my throat and chest actually hurt, and the tears in my eyes are burning, and I try and smile as Robby asks if he can draw a picture for Papa... Just one more. I don't want to be selfish, I want Grandpa to be at peace. I have to say goodbye.