My grandfather, Emmett Galashaw Ard, passed away today. He was 91 years old. July 8, 1919-March 2, 2011. Though he was suffering from leukemia, he was so vital and alive only two months ago. Just a couple of weeks ago, he asked my father to take some of his money and buy my mother a new gown or flowers after her appendicitis surgery. When we visited with the kids just after mom's surgery, he tried to entertain us, but he was clearly run down and feeling unwell. Yesterday, when I held his hand, I prayed it would be over for him soon. His misery was apparent, and he was as purple from bruising as he was chalky white; he was curled in a fetal position and slept--as he's been for the past week or two. I kissed the top of his head, too...don't know if I've ever done that before. I love my granddaddy. I'm going to miss him. He had more character and vitality than just about anyone I know. My granddaddy had a sermon about "Jumping for Jesus" and tried to devote himself to God, so, if anyone enters those pearly gates, he should be amongst them. And he should certainly be at home there, since, as he told me in January, he's a "do-right-daddy-got-a-home-anywhere-I-go." Granny's been flying with the angels for almost a year up there, and I'm sure she's figurin', "It's about time."
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