the last sip

 

“…bye bye miss American pie

I drove my chevy to the levy

but the levy was dry

them good old boys were drinking

whiskey and rye

singin’

this will be the die that I die

this will be the day that I die…..”*

Those were my grandfather’s last words.

As he drank the last sip of whiskey, the fumes from the exhaust of the Studebaker overwhelmed him.

He missed his wife. He would miss his kids. His grandkids. Rest assured. He thought of us all.

Then he thought of me his youngest granddaughter who he sang this song with at the kitchen table. And one final time he sand, “bye-bye Miss American pie…”.

He knew he was going home. A home he hadn’t been to in years. It was time. And he was glad. He felt he had failed, flailed, but he smiled just the same. It was time.

He was a handsome man. The looks of a movie star. A laugh so deep it would wake me from my sleep. His eyes burned with a fever of delight. His dreams burned through the night. Only whiskey and a beer chaser could quench the fire.

*lyrics by Don McLean

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