My paternal grandfather, Poppy, passed when I was in high school, before I made many pictures. It bothers me that this man whom I greatly admired becomes more myth and less reality in my mind over time. This is partially because of the lack of a personally constructed, concrete record of him. I had a second chance with Gramps, and while I didn’t make very many pictures of him over the years I did make ones that matter to me. His health began declining a few years ago and from the very beginning he was being given “months” to live. Until a steep decline recently it seemed as if he may just live in harmony with the cancer that was consuming his body, and in a way, he did. He wasn’t in pain and passed, probably, in about as peaceful a way as one could. I’ve run across it unexpectedly a few times already – those that I have photographed at some time or another have passed. This is the first time it’s been a family member. I’m glad that there is a record.

The week that Gramps passed was…well, it was a week of contrasts for different reasons. In one sense it was quite a whirlwind. I think I crossed state boundaries 14 times over the course of 8 days or something like that. During the week I was told his death was very near and I made a 6 hour drive on a Friday afternoon to go and see him. I saw him that evening, and next Saturday morning. He passed about an hour after I left the second hospice visit. There was other family there with him at the time.