Going to See My Grandchild

We'll be making a trip to San Diego, tomorrow, to see Isabella, our first grandchild. We're leaving at 5:00, just in time for the "Rush Hour" on I-680/580/5. We could go across the Delta on CA-12, but at that time of day, the road scares me. So, I will risk Altamont Pass rather than the ususal shortcut.
I haven't decided, yet, the intent, or purpose of my blog. I enjoy writing, very much in a therapudic way, to put down some ideas, memories, stories I'd like to tell, and just generally ramble along. Hence the name of this Blog. Maybe my family will get into this, and see what makes the old man tick.
Today, I want to talk about something that happend last year, and has suddenly become a realization for me. On April 10, 2009, at 10:00am, my father passed away. At the time, I was in a barber shop, getting my 16 months of uncut hair shorne. Dad bitched the entire 16 months, "Why doesn't he get a haircut?" I started to wonder if, by cutting my locks, I had taken away his reason to live... Never very seriously, but it was a thought. He died as he had entered the world, naked. He had been in the shower, and couldn't get up from the seat. Mom said she tiried to help him up, but that he sat back, said "Oh shit," and closed his eyes. Mom said that she knew he was gone, but called the paramedics anyway.
I found out about it an hour later, and just beat the Coroner to my parent's home. My last vision of my dad is of him lying naked (but covered) on the bedroom floor, a tube still in his throat, pale, fragile, lifeless. What happend after that, however, something amazing happend, and totally changed my emotional direction.
It started out with my family, Mary, Tyffany, Jacki, Mom, and myself. Mom was sitting with Tyff on one side, Jacki on the other, still very much in shock. Tyff is amazing. It's as though she were a "Betazoid," for you Star Trek TNG fans. She is able to sense a person's emotional state, and respond in such a gentle, caring manner. She sat beside Mom, a hand gently touching my mother's arm, and respectfully allowed my mother to cry her first tears as a widow. It was such a sad scene, at first.
When the tears dried up, Mom broke the silence, telling us what happend, and about Dad's last words. Tyff responded with "That's my grandpa!" Mom actually chuckled, and told the first of many funny stories about my dad that day, and I began to think that things were going to be OK. Everyone had a Dad-story, and everyone shared their favorites. We laughed, we cried, hell, we didn't even notice when my sister and her husband showed up. The first time I remember seeing her she looked shocked that we were "poking fun at Dad." She got laughed out of the room for that one, it was absolutely hysterical. Her husband, sitting in his motorized chair, wondering what was going on, and looked so dumbfounded, we started laughing at him. He would have walked out, if he could, but my sister returned, and demanded to know what was going on. When that round of laughter died off, we explained that Mom started it, and it just went from there. With the addition of my drama-prone sister, and her husband, it got sort of wierd, but we had made a good start.
In the intervening ten months, it didn't dawn on me until three days ago, I have become the Patriarch of my family. You know, I had never (and I mean, never) considered the possibility of my becoming the oldest-living male. I mean, it made sense, only son of an only son (only CHILD). Mary thinks I should look up "patriarch," and I will. First, however, I want to wallow in my own ignorance, and form my own opinions about what being a "patriarch" means.
This trip to San Diego, then, is field-research. I get to visit with my "only son," who will one day, by default, inherit both the title, and the "Grumpy" hat.