And now the end is near
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear,
I'll state my case of which I´m certain.

I've lived a life that´s full,
I've traveled each and every highway;
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets, I´ve had a few,
But then, again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each chartered course,
Each careful step along the byway;
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I´m sure you knew,
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all, and I stood tall;
And did it my way.

I´ve loved, I´ve laughed and cried,
I´ve had my fill, my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing.
To think I did it all that,
And may I say, not in a shyway
"No, oh no, not me,
I did it my way."

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels.
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way.
Yes, it was my way.

I have never told anyone this but those were the words I wrote to my grandfather the night before his funeral. See, I knew that this song would not be played because it wouldn't have seemed appropriate to anyone who didn't know him well. Which were most people. I mean, people knew him. But not like we did. So when he passed away, I knew that I wanted to write something special for him to take with him to his grave. And so I did. I put these words inside his jacket and never told anyone what I had written. No one even asked.

My grandfather was the man in that song. I mean Frank Sinatra didn't record it for my grandfather, but he might as well have. That song describes my Daddy Jack perfectly. He did everything his way. He was the head of our family. We were all like his children, waiting for him to make his move before we spoke. Not out of fear, but out of respect. I respected this man more that I have ever respected anyone in my life. As a kid and teenager I didn't, but as an adult, I sure did. I don't think I ever actually argued with him. I wasn't exactly scared of him, I only had respect in a way that I would have never disrespected him.

The day he died, so did our family. I mean, we all still get together and we talk but there's something missing. Him. Christmas isn't as fun, Thanksgiving just doesn't seem to have much meaning anymore and Fourth of July is a drag without his ribs. Most every other holiday is the same. But that's not the only time I miss him. I always miss him. I can't walk into that house without thinking of him. I can't eat beef stew without thinking it's not as good as his. I can't even go to Krystal without thinking of him and the night we must have put away 20 of those little burgers. I don't talk about him much because I don't want to upset my mom. She was close to her dad in a way I can never even imagine with my dad. What she lost the day he died was her past, present and future. I mean, we are all still here, but no one will ever take the place of her dad. And no one should.

Chris and I were so scared of him dying. We used to talk about what would happen when he was gone. We knew our mom was going to need a lot of support and we tried to be there and offer it to her when it happened. But I don't think that was all we were scared of. Chris and I were closer to Daddy Jack than any of the other grandkids. Mainly because our mom was so close to him and also because we were older. Losing him was like losing a father to me, too. He had taken the place of my father in my life when I was 14. He had been in the hospital, in a coma, and he woke up. He had lost most of the ability to walk, so he had to go through intense physical therapy. It was so strange for me to see this man, my own grandfather, unable to walk without help. My mom went to the hospital most every day to cheer him on. I went a lot, too and it was so neat to see that ear to ear smile when he would walk across the room. He was so proud of himself. So, I started to enjoy going there to see him.

When he came home, we went to see him a lot. He had come so close to dying that it scared everybody. That is when he and my mom became inseperable. He would go to work with her and sit all day at her office. He had his own little desk and she even had business cards made for him. He used to answer the phones and when I would call and ask for my mom, he would say, "Is she that little short, fat, ugly, black woman in the other office?", and I would laugh so hard. He always thought of different things to say about my mom. Of course, she wasn't short, fat, ugly or black so that's what made it funny.

He used to drink, too. Which is why he had cirrhosis of the liver. I don't remember his younger days of when I was a kid because I was too young, but I know they told me he drank and when he got so sick, that was why he was in the hospital. Because of the damage it had done to his body. I think that is why I don't drink much now. I saw that at age 14 and never had the desire to end up like that. My mom begged him to quit drinking when he was back to walking and driving but he didn't. I don't think he could. Oh, a couple of times he would stop and we would be proud of him. I was never ashamed of it. I just wanted him to be happy and if it took me giving him a beer, I would. I see nothing wrong with a man who wants to drink. As long as he is not putting himself in danger or anyone else, it is fine with me. My mom found out years later that we used to hide him and let him drink. He would ask us to get him a beer if we were out and so I would do it. I wasn't going to let him sit there and want something that I could go get for him. He could have asked me to get him a new car and I would if I could. So, if there is something that he wanted that I had access to, I would give it to him. The damage was already done to his body. I am glad now that I did that because I think I would feel guilty if I hadn't.

My grandfather was not a bad person. He was a wonderful man who loved his family and loved his life. Every breath he took, every smile he gave me was a miracle from God. If my grandfather had died when I was 14, I would have never gotten the chance to get so close to him. I thank God that He let him stick around so that I could get to know him in the adult way.

Daddy Jack was a captain of the police department. He was a very serious, bold, outspoken, dignified, clean shaven, strict, very classy dressed, straightforward man, who took no one's crap. At least to everyone else. To us, he was a funny man who had all of those same qualities but he let his front down around us. He was a lot of fun to be around. It is hard to make you understand him because I am on a computer, typing this so you cannot possibly feel what I feel in this, but he was a great person. I remember one time, my mother's friend, Valarie, had found a letter her father had written to her while he was still alive. When she found it, she was thrilled because it was a very sweet letter. My mother said to my grandfather, "Oh, Daddy! What a wonderful thing to find! She is lucky to have a letter from her daddy. I don't have one from mine!" My mom says she went on into her office and a few minutes later, he said to her..."Go ahead and type something up and I'll sign it." She said, no thanks, it wasn't the same and they laughed. That's just how he was. When he was so sick, there at the end, I considered taking him up on that for her but never got the chance.

The day he died, I knew he would. I was at their house the night before and just stood over him, looking at him. He looked so confused to me and he was hot. He kept kicking the covers off and my grandmother kept covering him back up. He did tell me he loved me. I knew I would probably never see him again when I left, and I was right. Before I left that night, I quietly walked into his room and kissed my fingers and put them on his cheek. He was asleep and I didn't want to disturb him. Now I wish I would have. I knew deep down that he would be gone soon but I guess I didn't realize that I would never hear his voice again. I would never hear him laugh again. He would never give me that little wave and say, "Hey, Cissy" again. That I would never smell his cologne again. That I would never hear him cough from the other room. That I would never get to introduce him to my husband. That I would never get to walk in and lay my newborn baby in his lap. That I would never get to see him again. I never knew the affect it would have on me to lose him. But losing him was like losing a father to me. Losing him probably hurt me more than losing my own father will. Because I knew him. I knew who he was and he knew who I was. We both knew that we loved each other and there was never a question of that for me. I never felt left out when I was at their house. He always made me smile.

He may be gone now but I still think of him. I even have a dog named Jack. I actually named my dog after the Titanic character but also because of him. My mom has a dog named Calvin, my grandfather's middle name. So, Jack seemed right. I think of him every time I say my dog's name. I guess I always will. It hurts me that my future husband and children aren't going to get to know my Daddy Jack. But they will always know who he was to me. I will see to it.