Pace Maker

One of these days I would like to see my grandfather's medical record. He has survived 4 heart attacks, over a dozen heart strokes, and has lived way past the five year life expectancy rate they gave him when he had open heart surgery in 1978. Last week he had a pace maker implanted, only to have it removed two nights ago because of major infection. It was, (as he has been told numerous times before) his last hope.
That man amazes me. There he was this evening, three days after been temporarily paralyzed when a blood clot passed through his brain, sitting down having dinner when I called the hospital. I love him. I love him dearly, and his will to live beyond anyone else's expectations humbles me. He holds on to life with the strength left from his years as a professional soccer player, he still has the clarity of his younger years as an accountant, and the patience of the man who waited for hours on end as I walked the toy store he took me to every afternoon after picking me up from the school bus' stop.
I have said good night to him thinking it is the last good night more times than I can remember. I have said good bye to him and watch him wave from the window as I headed to the airport back into the States, only to return six months or a year later and find him stronger, and even more determined to live than the last time.
My grandfather raised me, he made my breakfast every morning. When a soccer match was on TV, he could not get his face away from the screen. When something was broken, we could not find a way to stop him from climbing on a ladder and fix it. Even now, after being diagnosed as a diabetic, he still manages to convince someone to get him a diet coke, or a slice of cake. He always gets away with what he wants, and not even death has been able to defeat him. There is only one thing that will help me grieve the day he leaves this world. It is the certainty that it will only happen when he wants to.