Three Under Five and Still Alive: Love, Laughter, and the Map

Grampa went to heaven this morning. Sunday was our last goodbye. We snuck the triple threat in. Scooting past security on the main floor only to get busted. In true triple threat style.  Our naughty family traipsed to the visitors desk for our adults only pass. We had to promise the pass granting volunteer that the children would remain in the waiting room. We lied. We'd come all the way to Buffalo, from Maryland, and there was no way in hell the kids weren't breaking into that hospital room. They had drawings to deliver after all.  It was worth it. It made Grampa happy. He was pissed at the same time . He knew exactly what he wanted to tell us.  But it wouldn't come out. He balled up his fist and shook it. The damn stroke. The unrelenting, one-sided, paralyzation. The not being able to do what you could do, just days before. I was pissed too. It seemed so unfair. But we knew what he was trying to say. I love you. We got the message.

Life isn't always fair. It's not fair that those we love can't be here forever. It's not fair that kids have to experience death. It's not fair that parents have to explain it. Lil has had many questions about death recently.  She wanted to know who kisses you at bedtime if your mom is in heaven. Together, she and Grady decided that kisses can be sent from heaven. She said Mom, you can't die yet, you're not even 16. I didn't correct her. Because while I may have ~~unfortunately~~ experienced 16, no, I can't die yet. I have to be alive to see my dear grandchildren drive her absolutely crazy. Almost to the point of being committed. But not quite.  Because they'll be super cute.  Bringing her back from the brink. Paybacks.  Years ago, my own mother cursed me. She said one day, I would have triplets that acted exactly like me. She was pretty damn close. It's only fair that Lillian gets her turn too. And that I get to witness it.

It's not fair that I can't remember anything. Like how old I told Lillian I was, the last time that she asked. Or where I hid the paci's, candy, van keys, beer, duct tape, and other important child/parent paraphernalia. My mom says she's surprised that I remember where I live. Given my triple threat circumstances.

I think about death too.   Like, what will become of Dempsey after licking the floor at the athletic club?   And what exactly does it mean when your children have snot coming out of their eye balls? It can't be good. Will I die an untimely death due to poop asphyxiation?   Will my children only notice I'm gone when they can't find the paci's, candy, van keys, beer, and duct tape? When I am gone, I hope they remember love and laughter.   And I hope they can find the map. The one that tells them where the paci's, candy, van keys, beer, and duct tape are.

Grampa, please keep the kisses coming. And the patience. And the sanity. And don't forget the beer.  I hope I made you laugh a little Grampa. Until we meet again.  Then we'll laugh alot.