My Boppa

And that's not as in "The Big Bopper," btw. That's the name my sister and I had for our maternal grandfather. (If I think back enough, I can almost still hear me say "God bless Boppa and Gamma" in my childhood prayers.) It seemed like he would go on forever, even with Parkinson's. I mean, he didn't have any of the tremors you usually think of - just stiffness. So he would occassionally go in to the hospital for suctioning or something that seemed relatively routine.
And Mom had taken to calling me when she was visiting him - not just our usual Sunday afternoon call. (He had trouble speaking, but he could still send smooches!) But when my cell phone rang on Sunday morning with my Mom's special ring tone ("Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda" sung by Alan Sherman - always makes me smile), I knew something was wrong. You see, normally I would've been in church, but I hadn't gone because my sinus infection had started acting up again (just when you think you're safe from colds...). So at 10:15 on a beautiful July Sunday morning I found out that my Boppa was gone. And I'm still dealing with it (OK, yes, it happened on July 3 - so of course).
The thing is, I usually write a poem for the funeral. Sometimes it deals with my memories, and sometimes it's written as a 'message' from the person who passed away. (No claims of ESP or anything, this is just purely my own imagination at work combined with shared favorite moments.) But I'm having trouble this time. And the funeral is on Monday (July 10). So I just felt I had to get out my concerns here. Maybe it'll help. I'll be sure to try and get an update in later. Thanks!