Children make me sick.

Literally. A little bug has circulated through my two kids, and now has fallen on me. I once heard someone say that they never got sick until they had kids. I wonder if its just that you come into contact with more germs, or if its the toll that lack of sleep and exhaustion takes on your body? Maybe my immune system is low because I’m tired. Either way, I’m staring blankly at my desk in my office, and considering a nice hot green tea to help drive away the sickness.
My grandfather passed away last week. It’s so weird to write that. While he’s not the first older relative I’ve lost, he saddened more than the others. It’s gotten me thinking about death, and life…and all things in between.
I think if I lived in Star Trek, I’d most like the Klingons. A death should be glorious, and purposeful. It should at least be dignified. My grandfather has slowly sicked for the better part of a decade, until it took away his dignity, and eventually his mind, except for brief glimpses now and then. Going and seeing him in the nursing home for the last 4 years was trying, and sometimes avoided. What do you say? How long do you stay? Who knows what’s appropriate. Sometimes he was conversational, sometimes not. He was always depressed about his condition.
A death is sad any time, but a meaningless death, with no honor or purpose, is even sadder. He’s better off in heaven now, of course. And that’s a great relief for him. I’m happy for him, on that note. But maybe those crazy Klingons aren’t so crazy after all. I hope my death, may it be long in coming, is glorious and honorable.