I woke up this morning to a message from my mother that my 101-year-old grandfather died a few hours ago.
It's odd that I can't determine how I feel. I guess I'm sad, but I'm not weepy or devastated. I'm not "relieved"--he was in a nursing home but wasn't a burden to himself or others. I last saw him just a couple weeks ago.
His mind had slowed down a little bit in the last couple years but he was still sharp as a tack. His memory was fine, it just took him longer than usual to recall things. No dementia at all. At 101.
I guess I'm just accepting what was clear. In the last couple weeks his physical health had gone down, and even his memory slipped--that was the trigger for me that he was near the end. He went into the hospital a couple days ago with pneumonia-like symptoms.
Happy trails, grandpa. I'll remember you as you were in this picture, at your birthday party last spring.