I think I said goodbye to my grandfather on Tuesday.
There is no tragedy in this. He is 92 years old and has been astoundingly fit and well for 91 and a half of them. He is ready.
We, of course, are not.
After spending 5 minutes with him, during which he held my hand so tightly and asked, through his morphine haze, so, so sweetly after my husband and girls, after he told me how proud he was of all his grandchildren and their children (he has 11 and 14 respectively) and I kissed his soft cheek and told him I loved him - his wife, my step-grandmother I guess, walked me to my car and said she thinks he's 'turned his face to the wall'.
He is ready.
His hand held mine for the rest of the day. Through the traffic and the kids, errands and chores. His hand held mine and I feel it still.
I think I said goodbye to my grandad on Tuesday, but I still feel his strong hand on mine.
I hope to feel it there always.