Years ago, I spent a summer week with my father's father. It was a relatively quiet week--my grandpa was never known to be much of a talker. We watched TV together. We ate meals together. We visited my grandmother's grave together. We sat and read together. What we didn't do was talk together. It wasn't a silence full of akward, we-have-nothing-to-talk-about moments. It was a silence shared between two people who didn't like to talk.
In a way, my grandfather and I were kindred spirits. He was quiet, he often preferred solitude, and he was stubborn as a mule--stubborn enough to quit smoking cold-turkey without a look back. He watched television and read all day, and until his health began to determine his level of freedom, he always seemed happy. If I had to pick one person in my family that I take after, he'd be the one.
I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to see my grandfather lucid before he went--I missed my chance last weekend. However, my guess would be that he wouldn't care either way. I'm happy that he got his wish not to draw it out any longer. I'm happy that I got to see him before he went.
For fear of being overly wordy--something I'm sure he wouldn't tolerate--I'll stop eulogizing my grandfather now. May he rest in peace.