My Pop-Pop hasn't been doing very well, lately.  He had a quarter-sized tumor on his tongue removed in August, and was put on radiation, recently.  Evidently, the end of last week, he was very weak, to the point that his wife and her daughter had to help him into his chair.  His wife called the oncologist's office and the answering service recommended that she call 911.  The call was made, and she found out that he had had another heart attack.  The doctors weren't holding out much hope for recovery.

My mom flew up to Wisconsin, to help my granny and be there for support, and to say her peace to her dad, letting him know that it would be all right to go.  I got a call two days ago, from my brother, letting me know that my Pop-Pop was put in hospice care.  Hospice care is for those that don't have much of a chance, living out their last few days/weeks/months under constant supervision and care.

When I woke up yesterday morning, I had a voice mail on my cell.  I dialed the voice mail, and listened, in tears, as my dad let me know on the message that my Pop-Pop had passed away at 1 o'clock in the morning.  I deleted the message, and found that I had 2 missed calls.  One from my mom at my granny's house, and one from my dad.  I had planned on calling the hospital today, to say goodbye to him, but didn't get the chance, since he was already gone.

I'm glad that his suffering is over and that he can be with my Nana once again, but it still hurts to lose him.  He was my last surviving grandparent.  My son is named after him (and his other great-grandfather), so I know that he will live on in my son.

Rest in peace, Pop-Pop.  We will miss you ...