My grandpa is dying. Gradually, his bad heart is messing his whole body up.
His sleep apnea makes sleeping more than fifteen minutes not possible.
He is staying in the room next to mine.
But he’s a fiesty old coot. He is in his late sixties and is missing half of his left pointer finger and part of his thumb from a table saw accident. He still wants to go cross-country on his motorcycle one more time. He owns a bar and campground in the deep woods of Ohio. This is my grandpa.
The spirit is willing, but his body is weak.
It’s a strange thing, not knowing how much longer we will have him. He hasn’t contact the rest of the family a lot, just his brother and my dad, which includes us.
I’ve never had to take care of an sick old man before.
><))> ><))> ><))>