what sustains us is what remains

My grandpa died today.

He was 82, and he still had the same job laying floor in people's houses that he'd always had. Up until a week ago when he went to the hospital for a heart bypass.

Mom called last weekend to tell me he was having surgery on Monday. They decided to do a bypass after he came in for testing when he said he wasn't feeling well. During the testing they realized he'd had a heart attack of some kind not too long ago, and he hadn't even noticed. He was still going to work everyday.

The surgery went well. Mom told me that those days when my grandpa stayed in the hospital were the first nights my grandparents spent apart in over 50 years.

Last night Mom texted me that Grandpa was going back into the ICU because even though he was recovering from the surgery, he was having trouble breathing, so they wanted to hook him up to a ventilator.

This morning I woke up and got dressed for work. And my phone rang right before 7, which never happens (save a few pesky bill collectors), and I knew it was probably her before I answered. She told me that my grandpa's organs had all failed, and he probably wouldn't be alive past this morning. The doctor who had done the surgery told my family that he was surprised at how quickly my grandpa deteriorated, and had come in expecting to discharge him.

By the time I called at my lunch break, he was gone.

I haven't seen my grandpa in a few years, and I don't even know if he remembered that I moved to Seattle. He met Seth, once, at thanksgiving a few years ago but I don't he'd remember.

Here's what I remember about my grandpa:
When we (me and my whole mess of cousins) would play at my grandparents' house on holidays and weekends. My grandparents kept tons of toys in their house. The only thing we couldn't touch was grandpa's guitar. He kept it in their bedroom, not in a case, leaning up against a wall. Sometimes me and my cousins would dare each other to run in his room and pluck the stings and run out without getting caught.
He came to my high school and college graduations.
He has this tattoo on his arm, two letters. Someone's initials, but I'm not sure whose.
Once we were all at church my younger cousin JC said he looked like Speedy Gonzales and it made us all laugh so hard we got in trouble.
He has a crooked part and cowlick on the right side of his head, just like I do.
He put new floors in my parents' houses when they were too broke to pay for them, because they really needed them.
When I was in middle school I had to write about my family tree, and he told me and my parents about his family, and that his mother and father (or grandmother and grandfather?) had an arranged marriage and spoke different languages, so they couldn't understand what each other were saying. I'm probably remembering that last one wrong. I don't know what I did with that report but I wish I had saved it.
He worked hard, had a great sense of humor, and even though he wasn't always kind to my own dad growing up, he was always supportive of me and he adored my mom. He wasn't a big part of my life, but was always consistently there for me, sort of in the background, and I'll always be grateful for that.

I don't know if I'm going home for his funeral. It's hard to think about. We were weren't close anymore, but I'd like to be there for my dad. I haven't spoken with him at all yet. I get paid time off from work for family emergencies so that's one less thing to worry about, I guess. I'm mad at myself for not having enough extra money to hop on a plane and be there already.

Seth is being amazing. He's keeping me distracted and took me to the store to buy good food, and made me a salad for dinner. I told a few people at work and they were incredibly supportive, too. I'm so grateful for all of them, but I feel selfish being here, and so far away from home right now.

I know that I'm lucky to have had him as long as I did.