About eight or nine years ago, when I was living in sinful Las Vegas, my grandfather had a heart attack. I know, that's not a joyful begining to a story but it is one of the odder ones that I have of him. He called to tell me TWO WEEKS after, while he was checking out from the hospital after refusing to go to a rehab center. He was in his mid-80's and stubborn does not begin to describe him.
I quit my job, packed a bag, and flew back home to Florida to 'take care of the poor man.'
Except, you see, the 'poor man' had moved his girlfriend in and they were shacking up quite happily when I attempted to swoop in and save a day that did not need to be saved.
I'm not sure who was more embarassed. No. Wait. I'm totally sure that I was much more embarassed. When I questioned him on the wisdom of shacking up so soon after a heart attack I was treated to a lovely lecture that included the phrase, 'I'm old. Not dead.'
He's gone now, as I've said before. However, before his death, he attempted to live his life to the fullest. He 'shacked up with a chick' and he ate what he wanted (when said chick wasn't there to lecture him about it) and he tried to find happiness.
It's not a bad way to view things, I suppose.
This post was inspired by the novel The Opposite of Maybe by Maddie Dawson. At the age of 44, Rosie finds herself suddenly single and pregnant. She tries to hide in her grandmother’s home, but meets two men that will change her life forever. Join From Left to Write on April 8 we discuss The Opposite of Maybe. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.