My grandfather died this morning. He was 91. He lived about a three hours' drive away from me, and I'm kicking myself for not making that drive more often. I feel guilty and stupid for not spending more time with him, for not making sure that the kids got to know him before he was gone.
He fell last week and broke his hip. I know all too well that a broken hip is a really bad sign for the elderly, but somehow I didn't think that applied here. My grandmother, who is roughly the same age as Pop, broke her hip several months ago, and she recovered, and I know of a couple of other people who have also successfully recovered from surgery to repair a broken hip. I thought I would go down this week to see him but I wasn't in a hurry. I would wait until he was moved out of the hospital into rehab. I would wait until I felt a little better, until my sniffles were less annoying. I would wait until it worked best for our schedule. And I was too late. I waited too long, and I just pray to God that Pop knows how much I love him and miss him.