I met Jason's grandfather at his family's July 4th party. He looked old. Probably older than he really was. He couldn't talk because he has no larynx due to throat cancer. His mobility was greatly restricted because over the years, doctors had to take veins out of his legs to be used when he had triple-bypass surgery. Twice. Regardless, he seemed to be in great spirits, trying to engage in all conversation and activities to the best of his ability. He was really sweet, and was even able to make us laugh despite not being able to speak. I liked him.

Last night, Jason and I had dinner at his parents house. His mom broke the news to us that his father will probably not be with us much longer. Just in this last month and a half, his health failed considerably. He was put on bed rest, and was given blood-pressure medicine to keep him alive. And as a very unfortunate side-effect, the medicine did not allow adequate blood-flow to his legs, and he ended up getting gangrene in them (which, by the way, you should NEVER Google Image). Now he's hooked up to a morphine drip, and is pretty much non-responsive. Jason's mom and uncle made the difficult decision to take him off the medicine, and the doctors say he will probably live only a few days to a week.

Getting old scares me. I don't think I would have the strength to live when my body doesn't want me to and just craps out on me. And I hope I don't ever have to make that horrible decision of whether or not to take someone I love off life support. Sigh.