A Grandfather's Journey: Love and Resilience in Kansas City

Grandpa was always on the move, and once he decided to go, he didn't waste time looking back. He was only four when his mother died, and as soon as he was old enough, he left Irwin, Missouri, and traveled the world before settling in Kansas City in the early 1920s.

"Okay, good night, God bless you, see you tomorrow, Della Kay." Curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to pay her a surprise visit.

For 60 years.

I'm the firstborn child of that marriage.

Because we were always together, I was quickly dubbed his "little buddy." My sister arrived five years after I did, and things seemed to fit perfectly when she and my grandmother bonded in much the same way.

My sister and I tried to fill the void in their lives and became even richer for it.

The idea of change revitalized him, but every blow of the auctioneer's gavel tore away at my grandmother's heart.

Although he made friends there, he remained devoted to her and wore the carpet thin through the maze of hallways that connected his apartment to her tiny room.

I believed it was my responsibility to help her visualize life outside that pale green room.

Their comments of appreciation always made me smile.

It broke my heart to see him there, but just as I started trying to prepare myself to live without him, I began to see a change.

Grandpa nodded as if he were tipping his hat, and I was thrilled to see a spark I hadn't seen in months.

We went there every Saturday without fail, and each time he would say the same thing.

"This is the best meal I've ever had."

"But Grandpa, you said that last week," one of the kids would invariably say.

We were getting him back, and it was a wonderful feeling.

"To whom?" I asked.

Surely he hadn't thought this through.

"We don't have much time," he said.

She was a charming woman, still full of life, and I could see in a few short minutes why he wanted to spend what was left of his life with her.

Grandpa never believed in long engagements, and this time it seemed to make perfect sense.

Maude was a mover, too. Unlike most couples at the home who were dying on the vine, these lovers were blooming.

I'd look over my shoulder and pretend to scold them.

It was a beautiful lesson for all those who witnessed it.

I was stunned. A spiritual bonding.

So was I.

God had other plans for this gentle spirit.

With no other choice, he touched me the only way he could, with eyes that saw right through me.

From that point forward, I prayed for his spirit to be released from his tired, old body.

I wanted to savor the look of peace on his face before the nurses came in to make their final preparations.

There would never be another quite like him.

When my children arrived home from school and saw me there, they knew the end had come and joined me in my grief.

As long as there was a road, there was someplace else to go.