It started with a phone call for Ipstenit, her great-uncle had passed on. We got ready to figure out how to get to the funeral, only to find out on Monday that the funeral was Tuesday and we were too far away. But rewind to Snuday, where I’m making the morbid comment of ‘Humph’s still alive, but I’m almost hoping he dies so he’s not in pain anymore.’
I swear to god, it felt like a TV show. I say that, and the phone rings. It’s my Gran. Humph’s passed on.
My whole life, I can’t remember Humph not being sick. He was my Dad’s best friend, he’s always been hanging around my Grans, and we share an admiration of many things. Shared.
I’m finding it very hard to wrap my head around this concept of him being gone.
Since last February, Mrs. Ips has lost a great-aunt and a great-uncle, leaving her grandmother as the only living child of her parents. I’ve lost my Grandad and now Humph.
Next month, Laura BR is getting married and will officially be Laura BR and not Laura B. This helps me a lot, since I no long have to remember if Laura B is my friend from high school or my friend with whom I share software. I had her listed as Laura Pirate for a while.
It’s … weird. My grandfather was old, and like the stubborn idiot he was, he didn’t have the pig valve in his heart replaced. So he died. I still have a lot of unresolved (or mostly resolved) anger about him. But at this point much of it has faded. He’s dead, and there’s no point in being mad at the dead. They can’t argue with you. He was the last of my grandfathers. My mother’s father died before I was born, and my maternal grandmother’s second husband died from complications of a stroke back in 1996.
I never met Ipstenit’s great aunt and uncle, but she wasn’t so shocked they’d died. I mean, she was hurt and she’s in pain, but it doesn’t seem like her world was rocked off course.
That’ll happen the first time any of our grandparents or parents die.
GL (her granddad) and Taf (my grandmother) are pillars of strength in both our lives. GL is amazing and fun and kind and really a good man. Taf’s a foul mouthed tart who knows the value of living. They’re both wonderful. But I’m biased.
Humph was different. My dream age is his age. I feel like I’m 50ish and I often act like it. (Hint, my father’s 50, I’m not). I miss him a lot, and I can only guess as to how crappy my dad feels right now.
So on that down note, I end this entry. I don’t feel any better about the whole thing, but if this makes you feel like you shuold do something, donate to cancer research. Please.
Oh. I normally have VERY short hair. Right now it’s about 4.5″ – 5″ on top. I’m growing my hair out to give to Locks of Love so someone who’s bald can feel better about themselves. Only about 10 inches to go. This four is from December when I was told how little time Humph had left. Yes, my hair grew four inches in three months.