My grandfather, “Papa”, is a mountain of a man. He know more pain, yet displays more grace than any other person I have ever met or am likely to meet. He’s taught me what it means to be a man, and to take care of one’s family above all else, even your own personal burdens. More importantly he’s taught me about how one can change and that any demon, no matter how big, can be slain. There’s not a person alive that cares more for his family, and shows it every chance they get, than Papa.

Papa’s health has been deteriorating in the last year or so. About 10 years ago he was diagnosed with prostate cancer but through treatment and good old fashioned stubbornness he managed pretty well. Lately though his body’s been failing and his mind hasn’t been that far behind.

A few weeks ago he fell and was taken to the hospital where they discovered that his cancer has progressed into Leukemia and his condition was beyond repair. It seems after all this time, time had gotten the better of him.

It’s hard to imagine this world without him, and undoubtable that it will never be quite as good — that the sun will never shine quite as brightly — when he does finally leave. These aren’t the choices we get to make though. Time has won, and those that love Papa have lost.

Wanting to get (at least) one more trip to see him before his condition deteriorates completely, Steph and Linnea and I got up to see him this past weekend. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, and maybe it was the bright and sunny voice he uses on the phone, but I was convinced we’d have one more go of it. I knew we wouldn’t hit the town. He’s not getting out at all any more. I though though that maybe we’d have a nice meal or two in, share some war stories and maybe spend some time rocking on the porch. Sadly, and despite my best hopes on the way up, I came to realize very quickly that the man I have known my whole life, the man I will love and be indebted to until the day I die,  is already gone. Papa, as we know him, is neither alive nor dead.

In a way it’s a bonus. It eases the transition. I knew, just knew, that as soon as we pulled out of the driveway and got around the corner I would lose control of myself and just cry. I didn’t even come close. My entire weekend leading up to that point had tempered me against any sort of breakdown. Instead, for the majority of the weekend I could barely look at him, for sadness at what time and cancer had done to the man who meant so much to me. I could barely speak to him, for pain of how feeble and trite my words seemed at the time. We shared almost nothing.

I may die not knowing how to deal with that.

I do however know this. No amount of pain or sorrow that can come in a 24 hour period can replace a lifetime of sheer joy. No regrets about not seeing him sooner can take away the gifts his soul has bared upon mine. No final memory, no matter how disheveled, confused or underweight, can do more than chip a little pebble off of the mountain of his being.

Papa spent a lifetime sacrificing himself for the well-being of others. He’s a man who has always put his needs far below those of his Country, his family, and his fellow man. He’s done things, good and bad, that would be unimaginable to almost anyone, but even his flaws were stitched together with a thread of nobility.

I don’t know if I can ever live up to the example he has set, but just knowing him makes me a better man. A better father. A better husband. I hope he’ll live on through me, if even just a little. He’ll live in my heart until its last beat.