The day before my Grandma died the whole family and I, and my wife's friend and her kids, headed down to the lakefront to watch the fireworks.
[I'd spoken to my Grandma that day, but it was an incoherent conversation. She sounded awful and on death's door, but the nurse explained that it was simply a panic attack. At least I got to tell her I loved her.
One more thing - when we dropped off Parker at my Mom's house my wife mentioned a concern that my Grandma was dying. I had a gut feeling she was right, but didn't act on it]
We passed nearly 5 hours at the lakefront. Three adults, four kids, and one picnic basket complete with a Nero Wolfe novel :)
After awhile I took the kids for a walk down to the nearby Art Museum and its surroundings.
My kids, as always, are as nimble as monkeys:
As far as the fireworks go, they were stereotypically spectacular, launched both from the top of the ~50 story US Bank building and somewhere on the horizon. The annoying part was that the show was staggered, with several minutes of empty air between 15 minute shows. The heck with that - you were never sure when it was truly over. In fact, we left, then realized there was another round and sat downtown watching it.
The most unusual and original sound I have ever heard: the windows on the skyscrapers reverberating in protest to the incredible concussions of the blasts.
All in all, a pleasant and happy experience. I went to bed content with my life, not realizing my Grandma had only hours left to live.
Sorry, didn't mean to be a buzzkill :)
Oh, one more shot, a self portrait I took early in the long wait:
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