I hadn't intended to go to the viewing, knowing he's not in that body anymore. I was ushered into that room to greet the family, and there was my last grandpa, in his casket. He was wearing just the shirt I would have remembered him in, western style with pearled snaps and a bolo tie, as I would have imagined. Ninety years old and he still had a beautiful head of thick, silver hair. He looked good. He'd put some weight back on. Seven cancers tried and failed. He was a tough old bird. He looked handsome and healthy and happy. I'm glad I got to see him and say good-bye.