Grampa Oliver
My dad's parents divorced and remarried before I was born, so growing up I had 3 sets of grandparents. My mom's dad died fairly young though, I was just 4 or 5 at the time and I barely remember him. My dad's mom remarried a man who was older than her. Although not my grandfather by blood, he always treated me like one. He passed away in the mid 90's.
I remember going back to Oklahoma for his funeral in the mid-90's. It was raining, and I was one of the pall-bearers. My workplace at the time was reluctant to give me time off, and I had to bring back a program from the funeral (with my name in it as a pall-bearer) as proof afterwards. As well, the gravesite had a headstone for my grandmother even though she wasn't dead (and still isn't).
The amazing thing about that is my dad found out at that moment that his mom's name was not what he had believed it to be his entire life. She had decided when she was in her early teens that she wanted to be called Lucille (I can't remember her "real" name now - something like Anna?) and my dad never knew her real name was something else until the funeral.
My dad's dad has been in declining health for several years now, ever since his wife died. As it happens, we were never as close to him as the other grandparents. He never travelled to see us, so we'd only see him when we went back to Oklahoma to visit. I recall, growing up, that he smoked a pipe, and I remember thinking the smell of pipe smoke was a lot better than cigarette smoke. I also remember really only having one substantive visit with him, sometime in the mid-to-late 90's. He was still able to walk then, and his voice was strong. He had a very distinctive baritone voice with a decided Oklahoma drawl.
Beth and I visited Grampa a few times back when we lived in Austin (so, 4-5 years ago?). He was very ill then with Parkinson's, unable to walk beyond a few shaky steps, and his voice was extremely weak. His mind was still sharp, but in many ways it was like talking to a modern-day Muhammad Ali. In many ways, I've always regretted that visit because I knew that he'd never get better, and it took away from the prior good visit I had with him a few years earlier.
He's been in a nursing home for the past month or so, and my dad has been talking to him on an almost-daily basis, making final arrangements. He set up a DVD with photos and movies for the service with Grampa's help, and apparently Grampa was overjoyed with how it was presented. Dad was out there last week to make sure all the paperwork was signed "just in case" and came back to Arizona late last week.
Grampa had been given 3-6 months to live, so the good news is that Dad was able to say and do everything he wanted. The bad news is that Grampa passed away today, just a few days after Dad left. It's been interesting to watch Dad go through this process, from making arrangements to mentally preparing for Grampa's eventual passing.
As for me, I've wondered what it's like to go through the sort of "endgame" that Grampa did, being too sick to care for yourself and essentially waiting to die but having to ride it out. I wonder if assisted suicide were legal if he'd have taken that option.