Grandpa

I got the call this morning. He died in the night. (previous post) Off to Cleveland for a few days. Wake on Saturday, funeral Monday. Just about the only thing Catholics don't do on Sunday is bury their own. We'll have to get drunk instead.

I guess the weirdest part for me (and for everyone who goes through the death of someone close) is the sense of isolationism, like the temporal bubble in the sixth world in Braid for Xbox 360 Live Arcade. For those living outside of Kingdom Dork, it's slipping into another world, returning to family, sharing a time, sharing a space completely unique to you and your loved ones; dramas will erupt, sadness will prevail, flippantly change sex mid-stream to joy, and quickly revert, and no one else knows about it. No one else is privy to that chunk of reality. And you might catch a glimpse of that outside world, some snippet of television news, and say "meh, that doesn't concern me" because you're in that subjective bubble and you're not wrong for pausing, the world's wrong for going on and you just want to fucking shake it and scream "Goddamnit, STOP! Look! Here! Take a fucking second and recognize that a wonderful man has died, forever dedicated to his family, a war hero that killed not one living person, saved lives as a firefighter, then prevented deaths as a fire inspector, someone who has inspired two generations going on three. Grandpa. Stop. Look...."

But I guess there is solace in the fact that when I get back, John McCain will still be a douchebag. Some constants will weather the temporal bubble.

And I'm going to need some solid, positive energy come Monday morning. I'm apparently the only grandchild giving a eulogy. And if you've been reading a while, I can be an emotional disaster.

Thanks in advance.

I'll post when I can.