Sort of lost in my own thoughts today.
Got an email from my Mum this morning. My grandfather who lives in England passed away last night. He has been in the hospital for the past few weeks. Even at 93 years old he was living in his home with very lovely lady caretakers coming a few times a day to clean up, cook, laundry etc. Few weeks ago they found him on the floor in his bedroom. He had fluid build up in his legs and couldn't stand so he fell. When he got to the hospital he was in such poor condition the doctors were sure he wouldn't live through the weekend. He was so pale he looked like he had already passed. Despite congestive heart failure he sort of stabilized and didn't get worse. He lived through the weekend and again the following week. They were sure he didn't have the ability to get out of bed but he did. He got out of bed to go to the bathroom but he fell and broke his wrist and still managed to cross the room behind the door. Which scared the ish out of the nurses when they came to check on him and he wasn't in his bed. You don't expect a 93yr old with heart failure to not be in his bed. He even was bugging the nurses one night asking for whiskey saying my aunt will pay them. Even near the end he was himself mostly. They had to move him to a room with more people so he could be watched 24/7 so he wouldn't get out of bed again. He got worse and had his eyes closed most of the time, the big room was more confusing for him. They moved him back recently because he really couldn't get up anymore. They put him on morphine few days ago because he said he hurt all over. Last night 4:30am UK time he passed.
A WWII veteran, survived getting malaria in the war, even in his 80s had a handshake twice as firm as most men half his age and younger, lived when the doctors said he wouldn't and got up when they thought he couldn't. I hope one day to be as strong as him.
First time in 5 years I called in "sick" to work. Just didn't want to go to work today. Just sitting around not knowing what to do.
3 years ago before I had to catch a flight home. Still was making jokes that day even at 90.
A few months later after my Nanas funeral. That's a drawing of him at 25. Last time I saw him that trip.
RIP Rupert "Gragger" McCarthy
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