Saturday night my parents pick me up. A man is dying; we are going to the hospital.
My mother says: That story on your blog, about the wheelchair. Is that for real?
My dad tells a story from earlier in the day. Mike is helping some old lady in a wheelchair get from one side of the hospital to the other. The old lady says to him: Is this Friday?
No, it's Saturday, he tells her. And she goes, "Well then, can you hurry up?"
This is how we deal with things, we laugh.
Today we have a service. We listen to the pastor. We hug my grandmother. We lift up our voices in song. I set aside my grievances. You were the best grandfather you could be.