My grandparents had been together for over 80 years and raised 9 children together. They knew all their ggrand kids and even several great grandkids. Their minds were as sharp as ever right until the end, but their bodies had finally had enough and it was time for them to chill a little bit. And that's ok.
I was lucky enough to know my grandparents my whole life. They were there when I said my first words and walked my first steps. They watched me grow from an only child to a big sister, and from a little girl who liked to wear lipstick and carry around a purse to a woman who wore lipstick and carried around a purse. They were born in a different time and had different perspectives of right and wrong, normal and abnormal. However, they treated me and the rest of the family with the utmost care and respect, showing interest in our lives and our passions.
I was particularly close to my thatha through my childhood and into adulthood. He used to walk me to daycare as a child and listen to my stories. When I lived in his house and demanded that he construct a swing for my enjoyment, he did it. He never forgot that I "revealed" to all his students and faculty that he wore dentures, and joked about it frequently. He treated me with kindness and respect every single day although he was already 67 when I was born. He could have ignored me or deemed my thoughts and feelings irrelevant, given our age difference. On the contrary, our interactions were full of love, in depth discussions about current events, and a good deal of comedy.
Thatha had a fierce curiosity about everything from the laws of physics to the laws of dog ear infections, and he lived his life with a calmness and discipline that was truly inspirational. I never once heard him complain about being bored or tired. I don't think he ever experienced boredom in his life, because his mind was perpetually active. I looked up to him for the bigness of his heart, the improbable surface area of his brain, and the insightfulness of his mind.
Thatha was constantly on his iPhone, checking for texts or calls from one of his several thousand loved ones. He was active on Facebook and never missed an opportunity to comment on a post with perfect syntax, diction, and grammar. He responded to every text within 5 minutes: thoughtfully, thoroughly, and always ending with "Love, thatha". The last time I visited him in the hospital, scissors in hand to trim his unruly eyebrows, he was all smiles. He asked about my flight, my job, my dog Mowgli ("how is my great grandson?"), and my travel plans. Oh yeah... and 2 years ago, when he was 97, he sent me a LinkedIn request. Because why the heck not?
Gosh I am going to miss thatha. But I'm super blessed to have had him as the pinnacle of our family. I could basically live life using him as an example, and have the most fulfilled, enriched, loving experience you could ask for.