Unfortunately, things weren’t all sunshine, lollipops, and blowjobs.
I sat beside Granddad’s bed in his room at Promise Hospice. In an effort to ease his breathing, the nurse had raised the head of the bed to a forty-five degree angle, but he still struggled to breathe as he faded in and out of consciousness. The television was on, set to a music station, and I kept the sound down so he wouldn’t be bothered by it. Oddly enough, Buddy Holly’s version of “Brown Eyed Handsome Man” was playing. I held Granddad’s hand and listened to the music with one ear and to his breathing with the other.
Please don’t let him die. I knew it was selfish, but I’d only gotten him back a few months ago, after a three year estrangement.
He’d been diagnosed with metastatic colon cancer two years prior, and bec
