#2 Grandpa Bugs

I found a place that was warm and comfortable.  Rent was free.  Meals served regularly.  Is it any wonder that I didn't want to come out?

My grandma Chris was so excited to see me she flew up from Florida.  Unfortunately this picture had to be taken on a second trip.  It would be days before this stubborn baby would emerge. 

My mom went into labor on Saturday and it was a full weekend of deep breathing and pushing.  By the time Monday rolled around she said, "Screw it, I'm having this baby before lunch."  So at 10:45am they scooped me out via C-section.

I was not happy.  I was yellow.  Literally.  I had a skin condition called infant jaundice.  So my parents set me by the window like a plant.  I soaked up some sun and my skin was baby pink within the week.

  My first road trip was at the age of 2 weeks.  I didn't want to go.  When my mom tried to change me in the car, I crapped all over her.  There aren't many times in life when you can get away with that kind of bad behavior.  My Grandpa Bugs was dying again - this time for real.  We were headed to Pennsylvania to see him. 

  Here's a picture.  I had just come into the world and he was going out.  Kind of spooky.  I can thank Grandpa Bugs for my restless mind.  His brain never stopped working.  He'd wake at 3 in the morning and scribble thoughts on a piece of paper, sometimes never returning to sleep.  This blessing/curse was a genetic gift to me.

Grandpa Bugs died young.  He was only 56.  But what do you expect from a chain-smoker with one lung?  When he was 7 years old, pneumonia knocked out one of this lungs, but he didn't know until many years later.  If he had known, maybe he wouldn't have started smoking.  

 Here's my mom on that same visit.  It's not Grandpa Bugs' first time in the hospital.  When he was 43, he couldn't get enough air in that one lung.  He started to choke.  My grandma rushed him to the emergency room.  When Grandpa Bugs hunched to take a seat, a full pack of cigarettes fell on the floor with a thud, right in front of the doctor.  The doctor looked from the cigarettes to my grandpa and said, "Those will have to go."

The week Grandpa Bugs died he talked incessantly.  He was under home hospice with nurses checking in from time to time.  My grandma says those nurses loved him.  They'd sit and talk with him for hours.

The day he died, Grandpa Bugs was seeing everyone through an orange film.  His senses were breaking down.  "I can't climb this wall," he kept saying.  "Help me get over this wall."  We never found out what was on the other side of the wall.

Grandpa Bugs died at 3:16 in the morning.  A dozen nurses attended his funeral, along with half the neighborhood.