My Grandfather died yesterday morning at 10:30, surrounded by his family. My father, my two aunts, and my mother. It would have made him happy to know that mom and dad were there - no matter how he acted it was always fairly obvious to me that dad was his favorite. And mom? He loved her like a daughter.

My sisters and I were in the XTerra driving up to the hospital when the calls came in from mom - the first call was that he was fading fast, and the second was that he was gone. There was a moment of brief silence, but then everyone came back to form and started joking and talking again. And if the talking was interrupted by a few tears, and if the jokes seemed a bit forced no one seemed to notice.

When we walked into the hospital room he was laying back in bed, his eyes closed. My father sat in the corner, eyes red. Mom smiled at me through her tears. Hugs were exchanged.

My sadness was tempered by the realization that it was over for him now. The pain in his joints, his soreness, his fatigue, his vision problems. It was all over, and he was at peace.

While the questions of what to do next swirled around the room I took a seat next to my Grandfather - it seemed strange that I would never hear his voice again, never be offered a beer (usually warm) again, never hear him bitch about the most recent boneheaded move by the Browns. Saddest of all, I knew I would never be able to tell him what Alex was up to - no more discussions about his play at football, or baseball, or basketball.

I discovered that it is possible to be so upset that you can’t cry - you start but then just stop, like you were jerked back by a chain. I did that a few times while I put my hand on my grandfather’s arm. Hell, I’ve been doing it for a few days now.

Decisions were made about what to do, who to call, when to do it. Everything was too subdued for me - I made a few jokes, made my parents and my sisters laugh, probably scandalized everyone else. It may sound strange, but you know - It’s what he would have wanted.

Jamie told me that her and Corey wanted me to write the obituary - in her words, “it would actually be about him”. Beth told me that anything I wrote would be better than something that a priest - who didn’t know him - would speak about. I told them I wasn’t up for anything that formal, but that I would be writing about him here, on my website.

It’s hard to decide where to start talking about my Grandfather. He had many titles in his long life - husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, the great one, sailor, soldier, scaleman. Although these are all good, I tend to think of him as what he was to me - not only my grandfather, but also my friend.

As a child it sometimes seemed to me as if others in the family would dismiss my grandfather. Even at a young age, I could see why - he could be distant, aloof, and brusque. He was opinionated. He could be prejudicial. He could be judgmental. He could be blunt.

He was also warm and caring. Over the last few years, when he moved slowly with the use of a cane or of a walker his first question to my wife would often be to ask how she was doing, how she was feeling. Even with all the problems that he was experiencing with his health and with my Grandmother over the past few months he always asked me about my family and about my work when I would call. When we visited he would offer us food and drink no matter what else was happening.

All this week memories of him have been flashing through my mind; going on fishing trips in his van; catching and cooking fish; a trip down to Columbus once; sitting in his basement talking about Browns football; sharing a beer with him after my graduation; watching him hold Alex when he was first born; just talking with him in the basement or on the phone; and just watching him and Alex interact.