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Sometimes, a little “contraband” can be a good thing.

Over the last few months, my paternal Grandfather – whose only permissible name where grandchildren were concerned was “Granddad” – has been through a lot. Between chronic cardiac weakness, falls, a case of pneumonia and uncomfortable psoriasis, he’s had a rough time of it. While he kicked off 2006 in his apartment, he spent more than his share of nights in the hospital, and ended up moving to a skilled nursing facility after his second release.

I didn’t quite know what to expect when we went to visit him in May. Despite helping lots of strangers through tough times with ill loved ones, I haven’t got all that much recent experience in that department when it comes to my own family. When we arrived at his hospital room, I think Granddad was happier to see us that day than he’d ever been before. His biggest complaint? He hadn’t eaten much since he arrived at the hospital. Older patients often end up malnourished because their sense of smell and taste is diminished or absent, so food just stops being appetizing.

Always the resourceful grandkid, an idea occurred to me: Maybe Granddad will eat a bit if we eat with him. After bouncing the idea around, Kelly and I found ourselves searching Bethlehem for a good pizza shop. Because if there’s one thing just about everyone – especially flavor-deprived grandparents – likes, it’s a good slice of pizza. While we were waiting for a pie with pepperoni and sausage, we managed to find a drug store and pick up an after-dinner treat, too: some Klondike bars.

Armed with our contraband goodies, we headed back to the hospital.

During the hour-long pizza party that followed, we shared stories, talked about work and school, heard about Granddad’s business and his time in the Army, and made a fantastic mess with cheese and crusts and melted ice cream in his hospital room. It was a time for Kelly and me to feel closer to Granddad and closer to each other as we shared the strong embrace of family. I think it had been a long time since Granddad had bent the rules a bit in search of a good time, and when you’re 90, you should be allowed to bend the rules a little.

Late Wednesday afternoon, Granddad passed away peacefully in his sleep with my Dad and Aunt nearby. I hope, in the next life, they have good pizza for him.