My grandpa was a great man, a kind, and gentle man. He was humble beyond understanding. He was faithful and strong. He was loving in a way that I cannot describe and I love him. He was in his late 90s and had resided in a nursing home for several years and I remain amazed at how he accepted his life as it changed, grew smaller and more confined.

I was his first granddaughter. We had nicknames for one another and silly jokes that probably never made sense. He was a firm, solid influence in my life and his love for me, and everyone else was unconditional. He was and is a blessing to me.

On Election Night 2012, I escaped the noise to visit Grandpa. His health had deteriorated to the point when death would come at any time. I was busy, always busy, and carrying a heavy load of guilt I drove the 30 minutes to say goodbye.

My pain was deep because I had a difficult time visiting him. With small children, I was always either hurrying home to pick up children or arriving at his room to find him asleep. I would return home in tears, disappointed that the visit was not what as I planned, wanted, or needed. As his time drew near, I grew anxious. I had squandered my time and it was over. I fought back tears as I drove, hoping he would still be alive long enough to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet at his side.

He had been placed in a single room and it seemed empty, so different from his normal space with a blue lazy boy chair and familiar pictures. A nurse showed me in and as I feared, he was unconscious - just a shell of a man. I felt cold. I stood above him, kissed him goodbye, glad that I had arrived while he was still with us and I huddled in the corner of the room to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet. My tears were uncontrollable as I began to pray, "Eternal Father . . ." then I was interrupted as a young nurse who entered the room. She moistened his lips, medicated him, and turned his body away from the wall and towards me.

Then it happened - she took his face in her hands and she spoke to him. His eyes opened and he murmured. I stood up. "Is he awake?" I asked. "Can he hear me?" She smiled and nodded and left the room. Still sobbing, I tried to contain my emotions. I pulled my chair closer and spoke with him. His eyes focused on me; I could hardly control myself. I didn't want to upset him so I did my best as I said, "Grandpa, I would like to pray with you. Is that ok?" His eyes responded and I started the Chaplet again. He never lost eye contact and as I neared the end of the Chaplet, I wept thinking as soon as I finished, he would close his eyes and pass into the hands of The Father. "Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, Have mercy on us and on the whole world."

His eyes remained bright and I said, "Would you like to pray the Rosary." He verbalized and I began. He exerted such effort to pray with me, I assured him I knew he was praying. I told him that I could hear and I could see him praying. He could relax and pray without struggling. He did. His big, brown eyes focused as we finished the Joyful Mysteries. I asked again, and with his eyes still focused on my rosary, we began the Luminous Mysteries and he stayed me to the finish. I asked again, and we prayed the Glorious Mysteries. As I prayed the Hail Holy Queen, my voice was filled with emotion as I asked the question yet again and we began the Sorrowful Mysteries. So blessed and so painful was it to pray the passion with him, it was beyond my strength and only possible with God's help. God had granted me the grace-filled opportunity to spend this time praying with the most faithful of grandfathers.

Tears streamed down my face as we finished this final rosary and I shared my love, kissed him, and told him goodbye. Seconds later, the nurse whose kindness made the visit possible returned, she again medicated him, moistened his lips, and adjusted his position, this time toward the wall. I kissed his head and left the room knowing our visit was complete and he passed in the night.

It was after midnight and a voicemail from a reporter asked for a statement on my re–election, it didn't matter. In the hours that had passed, God had granted me the greatest gift I could receive, the opportunity to be with Grandpa, pray with him, and be mercifully healed.

Eternal Father,

Thank you for the gift of my Grandpa Joe

Thank you for his faithful example and the gift of my Catholic Faith.

May he see You, face to face.

Amen