Today would have been his 83rd birthday. But he’s been gone now for 7 years. There was no cake today. No ice cream. No balloons.
Today would have been their 57 year wedding anniversary. But he died just months shy of their 50th.
I am writing of my grandfather – the man who helped raise me. He was the most wonderful man I have ever known.
He would do anything for anyone – at anytime. And he had, on a several occasions, literally given the clothes off his back to people. I never heard him speak an ill work against anyone. And when someone else would, he would say something like, “it’s easy to judge when it’s not happening to you.” That would always end it. To keep going would disappoint him, and no one ever wanted to do that.
They don’t make men like that anymore.
I miss him every day. I always will. It gets easier each year, but this nagging void is still there. Like a shadow.
There is some comfort seeing so much of my grandfather reflected in my own children. One child has his empathy and compassion. The other, his stubbornness and his wit. And my son resembles him in so many ways.
The last year of my grandfather’s life was spent doting on my son. That was his pride and joy – his only blood great-grandson. And while he never purposely treated the other great’s differently, I could see that special little twinkle form in his eye when he held my son. I just wish they could have known him like I did.
All of this just rubs salt in the wound – the realization that my own father’s drastically failing health will not give my children 20+ years with their grandfather. I worry that they won’t have another two.
Life is so damn short and precious. And with one breath someone you love can be gone. Don’t take a single moment for granted. Just don’t.