“Life is a series of ouches.”

That’s what one of the get well cards in my grandfather’s hospital room said. He passed away this last Friday. As I was sitting in his room on that day, his last day, I kept glancing over at that card for some reason, just to take my attention away from what was happening, I guess. I don’t know what the inside said, just that one statement on the cover. Life is a series of ouches.

Despite that rather depressing assessment on the human existence, it has not proven itself to be entirely truthful. You see, the last four days have not been a series of ouches, but rather one continuous ouch. No matter how prepared you might think you’ll be for something like this to happen, the truth is it still hits you like a freight train when it does happen. I’ve somehow managed to cycle through every emotion I’ve ever had the capacity for within a matter of days. Today, I’m just numb. I’ve reached that point everyone strives for in the grieving process where, overloaded by feelings, the body just stops feeling anything at all. So that sucks.

But one other thing still lingers in my mind from this weekend, besides just that get well card that has given voice to my inner shrieks of despair. After my grandfather had passed, as my family was leaving the hospital, my father told me that when it’s my time, if I have as many people there to be with me as I pass and have affected people as deeply by my passing as my Grandpa did, then I would have been a very fortunate man.

My grandfather was a fortunate man. And we were all fortunate to have known him. Goodbye, Grandpa Joe.

And the doors are open now as the bells are ringing out
Cause the man of the hour is taking his final bow
Goodbye for now.