My grandfather crossed over today. He was 90 years old. My grandmother crossed 15 years ago and if you'd have told me then that my grandfather would have lasted until today, I'd have laughed in your face. I'm still not sure what kept him going so long, but I think it was plain and simple fear. Although born and raised Roman Catholic, my grandfather turned his back on the church many years ago and only started going back to church after my grandmother crossed. I think he was scared to die for fear that the Divine Creator would not or could not forgive him for his follies. I'm glad he now knows otherwise.

My grandfather was a real life Archie Bunker without the New York accent. He never made it past the 8th grade-- he quit to go work in the steel mills during the days when the EPA and OSHA were still far distant dreams. He walked to work each day-- always wearing a white shirt that was grey with soot and grime by the time he got to the mill. He was a man that was prejudiced against blacks because he was taught to be prejudiced against blacks. I don't think he ever knew a black man/woman in his life. He was a hard drinker-- beer was his drink of choice and you rarely saw Pap without a beer in his hands in my younger days. He stopped drinking the day he woke up and found his hands around my grandmother's neck-- he was having DT's and thought she was trying to kill him. He smoked Pall Malls unfiltered-- until my grandmother quit smoking for her health and he followed suit. No seminars, not patches. He just decided and did it. Just like he quit drinking cold turkey. When Pap decided he was going to do something, he did it.

My grandmother very much reminded me of Edith too: she appeased my grandfather while all the while running the household with an iron fist that had the gentlest of touches when necessary. She worked as a cleaning lady for private families but always had my grandfather's dinner on the table when he got home from work. She's the one who cleaned the house, cooked the meals, did the laundry and the dishes-- all the stereotypical things the "good wife" did in those days.

My grandmother had an aortic aneurysm that had reached the point where if she didn't have surgery, it would burst and she would die immediately. The surgery fixed the problem, but when she came out of the anesthetic, she was unable to move her legs from the waist down. The night my mom told me about her paralysis, I had a dream in which I found myself along with my entire family strolling through the city. I kept telling my family to slow down because my grandmother, who was walking behind, couldn't keep up. They kept telling me that she couldn't walk, but I was watching her walk. I knew then that the paralysis she suffered was not real. But not too many believed me, especially when it didn't get better over time. My grandfather, who by this time was 74 years old, legally blind and had a lot of his own health problems, tried to take her home and take care of her. But he simply couldn't do it-- she ended up with an infection that required hospitalization. And right before she died, she began to regain the use of her legs. Her paralysis was a test-- to see if my grandfather really loved her and was willing to take care of her as she had taken care of him all those years. I remember at her funeral, my grandfather was sitting on a bench, leaning against the wall. He had fallen asleep. Suddenly he jerked awake and said "Where is she? She was right here!" My grandmother had come to him and told him that she was okay.

My grandfather learned to take care of himself quickly. Despite his own health problems, you rarely heard him complain. He lumped everything that was wrong with him into a word I think he made up: "lumpuckeroo". He hated being a bother to anyone and would get rather testy if we tried to help him when he didn't want our help. He was fiercely independent and steadfastly refused, up to his dying day, to leave his home. He told my mother many times, "The day I leave here, it will be feet first." My grandfather's sense of humor is what I will remember most. He'd answer the phone "Allegheny County Morgue" and if you weren't family, you thought you'd dialed the wrong number. You'd ask him how he was doing and he'd say "Still kickin'...anyone who gets within reach." He had a sharp wit and a riotous sense of humor that lives on in every one of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

At his 90th birthday party that we had almost exactly two months ago, we gathered everyone together: all 32 progeny. And we took pictures-- him with his daughters, him with his grandchildren and him with his great-grandchildren. Those pictures will become family heirlooms and I'm grateful that my own children are old enough to have their own memories of him as I have of my own great-grandparents. And as I look at my grandfather's living legacy of 2 children, 11 grandchildren and (so far) 19 great grandchildren, I see in them all of the good things I saw in him and very few of the bad. And the circle of life continues...

Till we meet again, Pap, don't be kickin' too many angels...

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