my grampo

Grampo had an angiogram yesterday. He insisted the doctor give him one, though he is way past the age to have such a procedure. But he'd been slightly out of breath recently, and figured there must be a reason and by God there must be a way to fix it. So yeah. Stubborn old man. Testiduro. (Italian for 'hard headed'). It turns out his heart is fine.... a slight narrowing of the smaller aortas... so now he has to take medicine. The first prescribed daily meds in his life. He is 96.

So I spent the night there last night to help out Grams, and just to be with them, because I love it.

And it was so good for me.

I walked in the vineyards breathing in the familiar dusty smell of the vines, dug up onions and swiss chard in my Grampo's garden, ate ridiculously large meals, and listened to Grampo's wonderful stories I have heard a thousand times.

In the heat of the day I slipped into the old barn where I spent much of my childhood, the old rope swing still there, tied up in the rafters now. It still smells the same... of damp hay, tractor grease, and rotting wood. Such an unlikely combination for a most intoxicating aroma.

My family is trying to talk my grandparents into moving into a facility... a home of sorts, where they would have "their own little place" and be connected to a giant instituion full of old people. I seem to be the only one against the idea.

And Grampo, of course.

He says, "Piccolina, I'd rather die out here where I can breathe. I've had a beautiful life. If the good Lord takes me I'm ready to go. But mama mia, I sure don't want to spend my last days stuck in some home where all they do is sit around and eat food from a can. By God that'll kill me quicker than anything."

Then he takes my hand, patting it gently, looks me in the eye, and says, "But the Lord sure has blessed me. What a good life I've had."

Thank you Jesus for the gift of Grampo. I cherish every moment with him.