My Grandpa: the M&M malt maker, the roughhousing instigator, the joker who slid sexy lady photos into the old-school family slideshow, the maintenance man, the grower of lemon bushes and pomegranate trees, the baseball fan, the spiritual giant, the husband who stayed with his wife until death separated them, the father who sacrificed more than he would ever tell, the grandfather who always incited giggles.
He lived like a boss and died like a boss.
In 2012, Lyle DeLange, Grandpa, lost his beloved wife, Joan, to dementia. He missed her . . . a lot. For 10 years, he didn’t change a thing in their house; all of grandma’s mementos and knick-knacks remained where she had placed them. A picture of my smiling Grandma sat on the coffee table in the front room where she greeted any who entered through the front door, especially Grandpa. I remember Grandpa and Grandma driving each other nuts but they remained faithful and besotted to one another. They were a remarkable example of love in its truest and most complete form.
The day of Grandpa’s passing, I suspect he knew his time was up. I Facetimed him in the afternoon and he explained he had a nice sponge-bath that morning. Later, I learned he had eaten all of his dinner and a cousin brought him ice cream. My aunt had shaved his face with his iconic electric shaver, after which he splashed on his signature, Old Spice scent. A good day. A good day to enjoy final tastes and sensations. A good day for my 93-year-old Grandpa to spiffy himself up, taking what care he could to look his best for Grandma.
I fully believe Grandma met Grandpa at the moment his spirit shed his body. I wish I could have been privy to beholding their reunion. What a blessed and sacred event, their love living on into the eternities.