Give The Man His Beer

My Grandfather was admitted into the hospital on Easter Sunday. We're not quite sure why he collapsed - it could be a number of things from something serious, to a reaction from his medications. So they're testing him and trying to find out what's goign on--Meanwhile, they've told him that he's not allowed to drink anymore. Not suprisingly, he's refused.

Looking back, I can't remember a time when Grampa didn't have a beer in his hand. Family photographs are smattered with him clad in his "beer can" hat holding a 12oz of anything from P.O.C. (Pride of Cleveland beer), to Old Millwater or Beast. And he's always smelled like a mixture of aftershave, alcohol and hops, a combination that would smell less than sweet on another. He's outlived WWII, prostate cancer and bad lungs (yeah he won't quit smoking either), and has had a wonderfully full life. So why begrudge the man his two beers a day (or so he says) - how else is he to survive my commonly-dysfunctional family?