Forgive me if I stop talking about poor me (just kidding) for a bit to talk about my Grandfather who died Saturday morning.
When I was a little girl, I remember sitting on my Grampy's knee and listening to him tell me stories about when "he was a boy." Honestly I was so young I don't remember any details. I remember him saying he had to walk and walk like many older folks claim. I remember laughing at his jokes. We used to tease each other and he would call me "Ugly" but he didn't really mean it. He would say, "You're not really Ugly, You're beautiful."
The truth is the real hero wasn't him, but my Grandmother. The sweet woman who never complained about anything and put up with all his cantankerous remarks. But he did love her. He loved her enough to leave his home and live in a place he hated to make her happy.
Maybe it isn't all about the things we say. There is probably a whole other side to who my Grandmother was too, but I bet my Grandfather would be the bad guy to keep her beautiful to her children and grandchildren.
For now there is a little ache in my heart at the thought of not seeing him again. I know there is a chance I will never see him again. If he truely wanted to make peace with God, then I'm sure God would have listened. What I have left are the good memories.
The last time I spoke to my Grandfather (before his mind started to go) he had me laughing again on the phone. Saying he could see me and I was sooo beautiful.
The thing is Grandparents love you in this blind sort of way that makes everything OK. They don't have to make you clean your room or do your homework so they can just love you.
When I was a little girl, I remember sitting on my Grampy's knee and listening to him tell me stories about when "he was a boy." Honestly I was so young I don't remember any details. I remember him saying he had to walk and walk like many older folks claim. I remember laughing at his jokes. We used to tease each other and he would call me "Ugly" but he didn't really mean it. He would say, "You're not really Ugly, You're beautiful."
The truth is the real hero wasn't him, but my Grandmother. The sweet woman who never complained about anything and put up with all his cantankerous remarks. But he did love her. He loved her enough to leave his home and live in a place he hated to make her happy.
Maybe it isn't all about the things we say. There is probably a whole other side to who my Grandmother was too, but I bet my Grandfather would be the bad guy to keep her beautiful to her children and grandchildren.
For now there is a little ache in my heart at the thought of not seeing him again. I know there is a chance I will never see him again. If he truely wanted to make peace with God, then I'm sure God would have listened. What I have left are the good memories.
The last time I spoke to my Grandfather (before his mind started to go) he had me laughing again on the phone. Saying he could see me and I was sooo beautiful.
The thing is Grandparents love you in this blind sort of way that makes everything OK. They don't have to make you clean your room or do your homework so they can just love you.
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