Rest in Peace, part 3 (Final)

We ran into my grandfather’s room, to throw ourselves on his dead body and beg his forgiveness for not believing that he was going to leave us.

 He was sitting up poking at bowl of yellow jell-O. “Man, I hate Jell-O, could we go home and get some ice cream?”  He asked with a cat eating shit grin on his face. He looked healthy, not discolored from lack of oxygen face. He looked wonderful and full of life.

The doctor explained that the progression of the emphysema was gone and that he was back to having three quarter breathing capacity in one of his lungs. “He can’t live forever like that but today is not the day he is going to die” he smiled.

 “Are you sure” I snapped, I wasn’t going through this again. He said that my grandfather had got better hours ago, but they wanted to run tests before they said anything.

“The angel of death” as I like to call him, thanked my grandmother for changing his whole life and the way that he viewed medicine and science. Now, he now actually believed in miracles. So do we J

My grandfather lived for three more happy years. Every morning, he got up, looked out his bedroom window, sat my gram on his lap and sang along to his cardinal music box which played, Oh what a beautiful morning.

Harold Brady succumbed to pneumonia on Memorial Day 1993. Gloria Brady died from lung cancer November 6, 2010. True love like that is sure to live on.



  1. That’s a real inspirational story.

  2. Thank you, but that was my gram.

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