CIBC, I am so sorry. I want to say something substantial about how much cancer sucks for stealing our loved ones from us and the world but the words won't come. I just think back to the cards I've read from people my grandpa mentored over the years and the way the sense of unfairness ebbed and flowed beneath the balm of knowing how much good he'd done for the world. I'm sorry your cousin couldn't stick around to do even more good and continue to inspire everyone around him. I'm sending tons of ((((HUGS)))) for all of you.

Scrills, you get many hugs, too. Having someone relate about feeling cheated by their loved one's death is really helpful, but it sucks that you are feeling it. I hope you are always able to mentally respond to the thought of that last conversation with memories of others that don't bear that sting. It also couldn't hurt to remember how worthy you are of her pride regardless of marital status. Plus, spirits have forever to just chill and wait to see things and they don't seem to mind. [There are also some hugs thrown in for your sulfite allergy and some futile attempts to punch it in the face it doesn't have.]

I went with my mom and grandma to pick up my grandpa's ashes yesterday. Even though the cancer had progressed to eating his bones during the past few years, from the decades of running he did, they remained super strong, making his ashes denser than most. The lady who gave them to us made a point of bringing this up, elaborating that it doesn't matter how heavy you are, that soft stuff just burns right off, and most people don't fill up the box with their ashes because they don't have that sheer athletic bone density. Grandpa, the cancer may have ostensibly weakened you, but literally deep in your bones, you were and are so strong. You should pat yourself on your non-corporeal back for that.

I carried him out to the car. The box was in an ordinary paper bag with flimsy handles on it. It felt so solid and it was so surreal carrying what used to be a person in this dense cubical mass clutched to my chest. This was my grandfather's body, but now it had corners. It didn't even occur to me until now that it's doubly weird that Grandpa rode home in the trunk of my mom's car. Sort of. Even on the night he died, I knew he wasn't in that body anymore.

He won medals in the Navy. My mom was like, hey, how come I didn't know about that? Where are these medals? I also found out about his last wishes, of which there were three. The way my grandma worded this when she brought it up, it sounded like it's a Thing to have three last wishes. I don't know, maybe it's just that wishes are known for going in groups of three. I hope my uncle really takes in the one about his family getting counseling to deal with his death - he wasn't afraid to extend our hug when they took Grandpa away, but after that, he has not exactly been open to the idea of needing help or comfort from anyone. Also, how amazing is my grandpa for making that the chief of his last wishes.

The next was for everyone to remember him from before he got so sick.There is no chance of us remembering his cancer more than him. Screw cancer. And the third was how he wished to be remembered: "I tried my best." There are not enough tissues in the world. That he summed up his life this way proves beyond a shadow of a doubt how incredible he was (and is, in whatever form he's taken). He tried his best and he always succeeded in giving the world his best, which was so clearly the best that people were still calling to pick his brains practically up until the end.

How has it been nearly two weeks since he died? In other what-sense-does-this-make news, they sell urns for people's ashes at Costco. I don't know, it's not utter nonsense for Costco to sell urns, it's just like...that goes way farther than the kitchen sink.

...It's a siggie.

Last edited by wild_sasparilla; 01-31-2013 at 08:29 AM.