you start to say things like, "at least he's lived a long, full life," and "i just don't want him to feel anymore pain," and for the most part you mean it. but there's this tiny sliver of you that whispers, "but i don't want him to die. i don't want him to die."

and i wish i could tell you about him. "tell me a memory of yours," asked mark. "tell me about your grandfather." but there's just no time right now.

i am leaving for the philippines on the soonest flight i can get. my brothers and i will be going together, and my dad will follow.

my boss told me i was surprisingly calm, and i suppose i am. i have been ready for this -- since my whole family visited my grandparents in december 1998 knowing full well that it might be our last time spent together -- yet it's never what you thought it would be. you really never can be fully prepared for something like this.

at least we will get to see him one last time. at least we can say good bye.