A Pair of Slacks, a Sweater, and a Suite Case

First, a pair of slacks.
A sweater.
Black.
A long string of (fake) pearls.
Earrings, 5. All pearls? No, the roses, he’ll like the roses.
A pair of black flats.
All went in to the suite case.

The rose earrings. I bought those a few years ago. $14 for one pair of earrings! But I couldn’t leave them. Time and again I saw them and loved them.
The slacks. I bought those my freshman year at University. One of the local stores was leaving town and so having a sale. And after all, a pair of black slacks can be a very useful item.
The sweater, pearl necklace and earrings, and flats. Those I bought last December to wear to my cousins funeral.

As I folded my sweater and placed it carefully on top of my slacks (which were already in the suit case) I paused to feel something, though what it was I am not sure. Placing the pearls and earrings on top created a somber picture (though rather artistic, in a way). I wore this outfit less than a year ago, totally unaware that I would wear it again all too soon. Yet even as I packed I was unaware of just how soon ‘too soon’ really was.

I was packing to go home the next morning. To see him at least once more.
Some thirteen hours later I got a call. A message from my sister. “Call me when you can” or “Call me when you want” I can’t remember which. But I knew then. I’d go back to sleep and call her when I got up. After all, there was nothing I could do now. Two minutes later. Another call. A breathless voice. My dad. “L_____, he’s passed”.

He wasn’t supposed to die from it. People live for years with this leukemia without even knowing they have it and then live years more. “You’ll die with leukemia, you wont die from it”. It was supposed to be easy to treat. Some sort of oral chemo. But his white count wouldn’t stay down (and it was astronomical). They thought they’d try some IV chemo. But there was some sort of fluid build up. They wanted to wait it out.

Yesterday he was sitting up in bed, sharing a roast beef sandwich with Grandma. This morning he was dead.

The last time I saw my Grandpa was in June at my graduation from University. His voice was a little husky as my dad took our picture. He almost cried (and for Grandpa that is no small thing). He was proud of me. It’s a good memory.
And I’d trade it in an instant, if only I could have seen him one more time.

(written 10/24/2008)