Recap: My grandpa suffered a massive stroke Wednesday morning.  He was taken to two hospitals before losing consciousness and being sent to a third.  He never woke up.  Now he never will.  My grandpa passed away this morning; he was 73.

I’m having a hard time with this.  I just saw him last week and he was fine.  He was in good overall health; he still worked, driving a semi for a farming operation near Parkersburg, I believe.  He and his wife enjoyed travelling; they went south for the winter and attended bluegrass festivals in the summer.  Last year (or whichever year it was that we had so much flooding and no, it wasn’t this year) they went out to the East Coast and had a grand time.  He enjoyed woodworking and had taken up whittling; last year for Christmas presents he made bowls for my aunt and my sister and a recipe box for me.  He hadn’t done any woodworking in a long time and he had only recently taken it up again; he used to love it and I was glad to see him doing something he enjoyed again.

I know he’s in a better place now and that he passed peacefully, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.  He didn’t suffer the way that my mom and my grandma did; his was a relatively short and painless death compared to theirs.  But that doesn’t ease my pain.  I know this isn’t all about me, but I miss him.  I wish he was still here.  To think he’ll never tease me again or joke around with me; he won’t get to see Tom grow up and become a man; he won’t get to see me…I was thinking about it this morning after I got the call and tomorrow is the 14th anniversary of the day my mom died.  When her grandma died, I was only a little younger than Tom is now and my mom was only a little older than I am now.  Weird.

For everyone who kept us in your thoughts and prayers, thank you.

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