My Grandma S. died in her late 60s and we thought my Grandpa S. would soon follow. But he blossomed after the death of his wife of 50 years: lost weight, sold most of his stuff, pared his life down to only essentials. He was like Yoda.
Grandpa was a snowbird for years, coming down from NoCal to the SoCal desert for the winter months. I’d paint out there with him, staying in his tiny camper (once I brought a boyfriend and it wasn’t much appreciated…) He fed me oatmeal and didn’t give me advice.
This widower legend finally got too old to drive, and lived in a mobile home park, gently chuckling at life, until he got sick, went to hospital and died after two weeks. Saw him before he left, and he was still smiling. He greeted my kids as the “Future Presidents of America.”
Tree photo with white gouache by Tacita Dean at MOMA
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