So I got one of those calls tonight that you never want to receive. My mom, from Singapore. Her dad just passed. Granddaddy, Wyatt Edward Woody. May he rest in peace.
The last time I saw him was at my aunt Roxane's funeral 2 years ago. We spoke briefly, re-introductions. He had Alzheimer's and went in and out of memories. The last thing he said to me, in the last conversation we had, well, he remembered me. He asked me how New York was and my Aunt Pat's jaw dropped, at least, according to my mom. He hadn't shown signs of being too alert that day and, with all the people coming and going to pay respects for Roxane, it was understandable. But somehow he remembered me. I was touched. And surprised. And looking back now I'm overjoyed for such a moment.
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