I am exhausted, and weary.
I am sad, and angry.
I am hurt, and lonely.
I am wishing for things that can never be.

But those feelings are temporary. And this too, shall pass, as all things lovely and cruel do.

My Granddaddy, always one to work a room, has managed in his extreme illness to charm the lady nurses and doctors. "Oh he's a delightful man!" they exclaim as they leave his room. "Such a fine human being, " they extol while patting his hand. We met with Hospice yesterday and he has been admitted. They gave him two days. I spent all day yesterday with my Father, Uncle,Grandmother and a constant stream of family and friends by his bedside. We get him water and adjust him carefully in his bed so that his bones don't hurt so much. The tumors are everywhere and growing at an unimaginable pace. All lifesaving treatments have been stopped. The monitors don't beep or hum anymore. The transfusions didn't work. Nothing worked. It is his time, and he has accepted that with grace and peace.

"He can hear you," said Dr.Hospice. "He may have his eyes closed 90% of the time, but make no mistake, he is listening."

He sure is. Piping up once in a while to throw out his advice or two cents. We all hush and listen to the words of a man born in 1937 who has seen more than I probably ever will. He is still funny, zinging us with a one liner when we least expect it.

And can I take this time to send out the biggest THANK YOU to the nurses of the world. Especially those of you like Pam, the angel nurse. Pam has laughed and cried with us. She has given out soda, peanut m&m's, hugs, and back rubs. She is kind and good, compassionate and understanding. She is maintaining my Granddaddy's dignity during this time and I could not possibly ever thank her enough.

My Granddaddy wasn't perfect, and we're both bullheaded enough to have argued off and on for years. We didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things and boy oh boy there was friction. But perfection and love aren't the same thing. Love conquers, when we choose to let it. He wasn't perfect. And my god, neither am I. But I love him. And when I walk into the room his eyes light up, and I know I am loved.

He lived a life of hard work. As the head of a union he fought tirelessly for the rights of the little people, championing for the lost causes and the voices that aren't often heard. He lived a good, long and full life. He and my Grandma have been married for 53 years. And yesterday he was worried about her. Eyes closed, body aching, he asked everyone to make sure she was taken care of. 53 years. Five decades of marriage and love and arguing and making up and giving your all to someone. It is a miracle and an example I can only hope to follow.

I'm heading to the hospital now. I'll get the ice water and adjust the bed. I'll hold his hand and kiss his cheek. I'll greet the family. I'll cry. I can't seem to stop.

But we'll all be there for him, telling the stories, straining to hear his words and hanging on to these moments we will never forget.

And he will be surrounded by love.