Ah, my grandpa. He’s half deaf, miserable as hell, smokes too much and keeps the heat on 100 degrees. Man, I love him.
I am struggling to find the words that accurately describe how much this man means to me. He’s been there for me in times no one else was. Offering all he had to help. Frustration builds when I see someone so giving, receiving so little from others. I ‘m not referring to tangible things. Just love, attention, and a visit once in a while. After my grandma passed, the visits stopped. Why is it that when one half dies, the other half seems to be forgotten? I myself have neglected my him at times, and am trying hard now to right that wrong. Even if it means spending each weekend in the kitchen trying to mimic my grandmothers amazing cooking, because he’s craving good food. (Today he’ll be receiving potato pancakes, lasagna, chicken cutlets, and some Ava sized hugs!)
Today we celebrate his 88th birthday. He hasn’t changed a bit. He doesn’t listen to the doctors. He eats badly, and complains too much. But you know what? I think it’s working for him, and I’m glad that he’s still here. I’ll love him anyway.
Happy Birthday Grandpa!
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