“Your grandmother died this morning at breakfast time,” Mother told me at noon on the phone. “Your dad is there. Grandpa isn’t.” No, Grandpa had gone off to the bank to empty Grandma’s bank account before notifying the doctor, the police or a mortician.

After lunch I called Dad at Grandma’s. “Your grandfather isn’t back yet. But Grandma is still here!” Dad was in the basement. Grandma was propped up in Grandpa’s chair in the living room. Dad didn’t want to be physically too close to his dead mother.

I was appalled and angry that Grandpa had not had more respect for his wife than to leave her dead body lying in a chair for hours while he was making sure that he could avoid inheritance taxes. Determined to end this awful situation, I drove to Grandma’s. By the time I got there, Grandpa had returned and had called the morticians at Willwerscheid and Peters. Grandpa’s greatest concern was that someone would see the hearse in the driveway.

At some point between Grandma’s death in the morning and midafternoon, Aunt Mary – Grandma’s sister — had been involved in the process. Someone had called Grandma’s doctor. He said there was no reason for him to come if Grandma had already been dead for so long.

My rather negative opinion of Grandpa sank to a new low. Yet, at the same time, I felt sorry for him. The situation was more than he could handle. When the people from Willwerscheid and Peters came, Grandpa remained seated in the kitchen looking out the window and let me deal with them. He admonished me once again to have them hurry up before the neighbors could see their car. They gave me the jewelry that Grandma had been wearing. When I tried to give it to Grandpa, he wouldn’t take it. I put it in her bedroom.

After the morticians had left, Dad, Grandpa and I were together in the kitchen. Grandpa still seated, Dad standing at the back door. Grandpa tried to regain control of the whole situation and ordered Dad to sit down. “I don’t want to,” Dad said. Grandpa barked something typical like, “I’m your father and I told you to come and sit down.” Dad opened the door and went outside. At least there was no exchange of angry words.

At the funeral the priest definitely did not connect with me. I didn’t recognize Grandma in his eulogy. Perhaps there were too many things going on in my life at the time. A few days after the funeral I moved from Minnesota to California to start a new job in Napa, California.