it's been a long day. a couple minutes before deciding to post, i lay with my head scrunched into my pillow, softly explaining why i don't want my last memory of my grandfather to be in a hospital bed with wires.

it feels selfish. but my throat begins to close just thinking of that 5th floor room.

he used to be chief of police. and yesterday i was driving home remembering the one time i ever saw him tear up. not cry, mind you. but eyes that looked glassy just for a moment. that was the christmas only days before we left michigan. that was the christmas when we made him the "world's best grandpa" sweatshirt with the handprints.

weakness was not in his vocabulary.

but now the parkinson's is weakening his will. and the dementia makes him sad. and all i can think about is a sweatshirt with tiny orange and red and blue handprints on it.

my eyes turn glassy, but no tears. i think maybe i got that from him.