All's well that ends well.

The phone rang at 2141, and I knew exactly why. My dad was calling from my grandparents house. He was at my grampa's side and it was over. I just knew it. I ran upstairs to hear my mom say, "I'm sorry." I sat down on my bed and waited for my mom. She came out and knew just by looking at me that I knew what was going on. We woke up my sister and told her. Back downstairs I went. I was still awake from the day before and my brain was just friend. Eventually, I broke down. The massive outpouring of support from friends on Facebook was what did it. My Masonic brethren were also an immense, strong column. Hey, wait a sec... I got it out of my system for the moment and then dad got home. We did a shot of Jameson, "To grampa," and then just sat and talked for a bit. He was there at the end, it was quick and painless.

I guess if you're gonna go, that's how to do it. In your own house surrounded by your family. Here was a man who lived on his own terms, but with values. Family was the most important thing in the world to him. Not just his own family, but the human family. He was alive on December 7th, 1941. He took up the mantle of his country and fought across foreign lands, against death itself to protect millions he didn't even know. His best friend and roomate from Notre Dame perished in that war. He only spoke to me about it once. That was all I needed to hear. Liberating a Nazi death camp, seeing the emaciated, weak, pathetic looking prisoners and knowing that they have been saved. He raised 3 boys and a girl, my father, uncles and aunt. We were all there yesterday. I think he knew. At least, I like to think he knew. I said my goodbyes and thank yous, and his breathing changed a bit. I wasn't sure if it was an attempt at talking or if he was crying or what, but I knew he heard me and I'm glad he did.