On Saturday night my grandpa died.
We were at a wedding, a close friend's wedding.
It was my mom and dad's anniversary.
We were laughing, talking, and taking pictures with long-time friends.
Yes, one minute we were laughing, talking and posing for pictures,
and the next minute we were crying.
I was
sobbing.
I was prepared for this. I had been prepared for
months.
I knew Grandpa was sick.
I knew that some days he wasn't even
Grandpa.
I knew that the best place for him was in heaven with Grandma.
I knew that my aunts were there.
I knew that hospice had been called.
I knew the morphine had been given.
I knew
all of this.
But no matter how much you
know,
no matter how much you
prepare,
it still
hits you like a ton of bricks.
~~~~
And since then, I have been wanting to
write.
I have been wanting to sort through my jumbled
thoughts and
emotions.
I have been wanting to clear my head,
get out of this fog.
I have been wanting to write about Grandpa.
About his
life, and the memories we share with him.
I have been looking through photo albums,
searching, grasping,
longing to see him again.
I have been wanting to write a blog, share the photos,
relive the memories with you.
I want you to know what a great man he was,
what an incredible
Grandpa he was.
But no matter how many stories I tell or how many photos I share,
it will never be good enough.
Nothing I say will be good enough.
~~~~
To all the friends who were with us on Saturday night,
thank you.
To my aunts, uncles, and cousins who were with Grandpa,
I'm so glad he wasn't alone.
To the special person who drove to camp get my sister,
you will never know how much we appreciate you.
And to my Grandpa,
I will always love you.