How Much Light is Left?

HMP

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How Much Light is Left?
Good question, and one that was on my mind at the start of it all.

This is random and unless you want a sad story, move on.

My grandfather passed almost four years ago, the 'anniversary' will be in two weeks.

Wednesday before he passed - I was in Boone at ASU for a Model UN conference for my kids/school. I was sitting in their commons, this area that has a waterfall and some comfy chairs. I was browsing insta and saw a post by a musician, Bob Nanna, that got my interest.
BN owns a site called DownWrite - you can get musicians to write you a song, mostly punk/emo/indie artists, wouldnt appeal to many on here. But I like his music and he posted that for the next 24 hours he'd do a song for 99c. Now the site charges a fee of 5 bucks, but he'd even refund that if you asked. Hell, it's six dollars, I dont care about the refund.

So I ordered.

Thursday - Im on the bus coming back, plans were to visit my grandfather in the hospital on Friday. Got a text from my dad, call him when I get back to school. I replied asking if all was ok, he said yes. Liar. (for the record, Im not mad at him for that, he told me he knew there was nothing I could do while on the bus, no reason to get me worked up for another hour on the bus).
Get to the school around 7pm or so, Im tired. Call dad.
He said, (not verbatim) "I know you planned to come see Pop tomorrow, you need to come tonight"
I drove to High Point to the hospital. This was it, it was all downhill.

He, Pop, had already stated he was done. No more meds, no more food, he was done.
I cried and cried and cried before I even entered the room. IM starting to tear up as I write this.

I just bought my first house one week before, Halloween. I wanted so bad for him to see it, to be proud of me.
I didnt leave. I stated to my family I wasnt leaving, and I didnt for many hours. I stayed in a recliner beside his bed that night, listening to Hey Mercedes and The City on Film - two bands of Bob Nanna.

Very late at night I had a thought - write Bob. I sent an email to the address I had from my receipt, again, knowing he owned the business. I stated how I was a fan and that there I was beside my dying grandfather in the hospital, but that his music helped a bit. Then I was out, asleep.

Next morning I wake, spend hours there till around 9am I said I needed to leave to eat something. Went to DeBeen for coffee and a muffin and I had my laptop (had it with me on my App trip).
Log on and there's an email from Bob at like 2 or 3am, I forget now.
He was very sympathetic and I was stoked he wrote me back. I replied and included a picture of me and him (Bob from Boston) and told him how I'd bought a song two days before. A few emails and that was that.
That was a Friday morning. I ended up going home to sleep some on that Saturday morning, and left for lunch on Saturday afternoon for about an hour.
That night he passed.

Time went on and I thought about the song, I never got it. I wrote and just said, "hey, never heard back on the song" He apologized and said mine was the last one.

I got it days later. "How Much Light is Left?"
It just came on my ipod in the car. Ive only heard it fully once or twice in four years (well, lets call it 3.75). I dont like to listen to it. Not because it's bad, but because of the memories of why it's written.

I miss my grandfather immensely. Anything good about me - thank my dad and grandfather (as well as grandmother ;) ), both men mean so much to me, role models.

I just wanted to share. I probably shouldnt have, not here, not now. No, not CFF, but sitting outside a coffee shop in Thomasville. This was tough.

Yall spend time with those you love and care about, have a good afternoon.
 
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Great story.
Thanks for taking the time to type it all out, and to remind us to make time for people we love.
 
Hits pretty close to home -- thanks, @HMP !
 
Music is the best for these types of situations. When my father was in the process of dying all of my brothers were gathered around him. My youngest brother is a professional musician and he played and sing some of his favorite songs to him for us to hear. Every time I heard the heart of Saturday night by Tom Waits I think of that night.

Care to share the song?
 
I remember the last time I spent with my grandfather. I knew he was winding down. A little over a year prior, he and his sister packed up and drive from OH to their place in FL. Apparently his sister had pneumonia and over exerting to go to FL made it worse as she immediately wound up in the hospital. The strongest round of antibiotics they had couldn’t cure it and she went to hospice. He returned home to OH, shortly thereafter and the family made changes to have someone stay with him at night, mostly his son (my uncle)

We learned after the fact how bad my uncles financial situation was and his father was always very financially conservative. I’m somewhat educated guessing here but I suspect my grandfather gave his son one of his classic diatribes about money and responsibility and the combination of having his life disrupted against his will and the stress of an argument caused him to have a heart attack and die the next day. That really took the wind out of my grandfathers sails and he started going down hill.

We went to visit over Christmas in 2013. As part of his care protocol they put him on antidepressants. Should have done so years ago because it dramatically improved his disposition. Anyway, the night before we left and the last time I saw him, we stayed up late and watched a DVD of oceans 11. At the end of the movie, he looked at me, smiled, and said, “Well, that movie really sucked”. It’s my last real memory of him, and I’m glad it’s a good one.
 
My mom birthed me at 17. Her parents did a lot of my raising. My grandfather, PawPaw, died unexpectedly when I was 13. He told me two things I'll never forget, and I try to instill in my kids. "Boy, you like to eat, don't you?" Yes sir. "Well, you damn well better like to work too." And then, "Son, don't ever become enamored with a man's possessions, if his word ain't no good, he ain't no good".

In 13 years I learned that no one will ever love me as much as he did, and no one will ever beat my a** to teach me right from wrong like he would. I feel your pain, and know you're not alone. And since this is a music related thread........

 
Y'all were lucky to know a grandpa. I never knew any of mine, and I had 4.....being adopted and all. :rolleyes: I knew one Granny.
 
I remember standing over my grandfather and watching him slowly die.

I remember standing over my father and watching him slowly die.

I say slowly, but it was really only a few minutes. Still, though.

I remember calling my boss and telling her verbatim "I won't be in today; I have to go watch my father die. I probably won't be in tomorrow, either. Sorry"

Life is an absurd, delusional joke sometimes, so it's just easier to smile or laugh inappropriately and be despised by family. I did cry out "Daddy" like a damn child when the last breath left him. Every woman in the room, including the attending nurse welled up like a pinholed water balloon because like many women, they could hardly bear to hear a damn grown man cry out in that kind of despair.

And like that, he was gone.

Then there was the enormous and still ongoing mess to try and put and keep his damn killer in prison that came afterwards. And anger. Nothing but the bottomless, teeming blackness that I had distilled so well with other tragedies and transgressions reaching up out of me, solidifying to a hatred for the vile, putrid system we've foisted upon ourselves so that we can remain willing slaves for those that seek to restrain us, to release their pet projects to kill us, all without a second thought for the havoc the bring upon those of us simply trying to live our lives.

Be good to those that love you. you may have to watch them die.
Be good to those that love you. They might be the ones watching you die.

All the best, @HMP . Hope some of the bitter drains out of the sweet soon enough for you.
 
Just remember the good. I didn't know my grandfathers and it seems that everybody who did know them wished they didn't. at least you have good memories instead of only awful second hand stories.
 
Never knew either of my grandfathers. Both died before I was old enuff to remember them. Lost my dad early too. So here I am now a grandfather to the greatest 2(soon to be 3) year old. I try everyday to make good memories for him cause I know I won't be here forever. I figure he is almost old enuff to remember me cause my first memory is when I was almost 3. Nothing is a given in this life. Enjoy what you have while you have it.
 
My grandpa is 95 & pretty deep in dementia, so these kindsa thoughts have been weighing on my mind. Grandma says he has good days & some not so good. Some of his repressed WW2 & Korea memories are bubbling up. No one else knows what it really is, but I see it. I'm the only he's ever talked to about his time in service, as he was especially proud of my Army career & exploits.

I really need to get back home & see him.

My pops & I are on the road to "normalizing" our relationship & stay in touch regular. Nothing about he & I will ever be normal, 'cos he's crazier than I am, but makes much worse life choices, but we're figuring it out as we go.
 
I remember standing over my grandfather and watching him slowly die.

I remember standing over my father and watching him slowly die.

I say slowly, but it was really only a few minutes. Still, though.

I remember calling my boss and telling her verbatim "I won't be in today; I have to go watch my father die. I probably won't be in tomorrow, either. Sorry"

Life is an absurd, delusional joke sometimes, so it's just easier to smile or laugh inappropriately and be despised by family. I did cry out "Daddy" like a damn child when the last breath left him. Every woman in the room, including the attending nurse welled up like a pinholed water balloon because like many women, they could hardly bear to hear a damn grown man cry out in that kind of despair.

And like that, he was gone.

Then there was the enormous and still ongoing mess to try and put and keep his damn killer in prison that came afterwards. And anger. Nothing but the bottomless, teeming blackness that I had distilled so well with other tragedies and transgressions reaching up out of me, solidifying to a hatred for the vile, putrid system we've foisted upon ourselves so that we can remain willing slaves for those that seek to restrain us, to release their pet projects to kill us, all without a second thought for the havoc the bring upon those of us simply trying to live our lives.

Be good to those that love you. you may have to watch them die.
Be good to those that love you. They might be the ones watching you die.

All the best, @HMP . Hope some of the bitter drains out of the sweet soon enough for you.
That took the breath right out of me.
 
The only grandparent that I ever knew was my paternal grandmother. She lived to be 93 and she was in pretty good health right up to about 6 months before she died. She was a wonderful cook and she's the reason that I like sweets like I do. She always had cookies, a cake, or a pie on hand. She is also where I inherited my strange sense of humor.
 
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