All Things Profane and Sacred

Lots of anger today. My mom just called and told me that my Grandpa on my father's side passed away 2 weeks ago. No one bothered to let me, my brother or my father know about this. My father is apparently somewhere down in Mexico, and still doesn't know. I don't like the bastard, but I think he had the right to know about it and attend grandpa's funeral if he wanted to.

When I left Wisconsin, I knew I probably wouldn't see grandpa again-at least in a state where he would recognize me and be able to converse. He had been gradually losing his memory and abilities for quite some time. I remember that the last time I saw him, he was actually pretty present, which made me happy. I have a great picture of him and me where we are both making frowny mean faces-it's framed and sits in my living room.

Granpa was quite the character. For some reason his favorite swear was "Sacre Bleu!" His constant threat was "I'll punch you right in the snotbox" (followed with a tap on the nose). I always wondered about his marriage to grandma-they wouldv'e been married in the late 1940s, and grandpa was 1/2 native american, while grandma was all german. Was it hard? Did they face discrimination? Or was it just fine? I never asked, even when grandma said that she always had a thing for those dark skinned men.

In some ways I'm glad he's out of it. These last years, he was increasingly frustrated by his loss of memory. It's purely selfish reasons that make me wish he was still about. Love you lots grandpa. Hope you're giving St. Peter a punch in the snotbox for me.