Honoring the Dead

The man in the picture was my grandfather, my mother’s father.

He passed when I was in my late 20’s and not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.

He was an unusual man, with an unusual sense of humor, and an unusual outlook on life. I loved him very, very much.

He was always good to me, even when I didn’t deserve it and I tried to pay him back by caring for him when he became ill.

I spent countless nights on a hospital cot when my own family needed me at home, so he wouldn’t be alone. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for him if I could have.

This is the time of year when I remember him most frequently and clearly.

When I think of trying to live my life in a way that would make someone proud, he is one of the first people to come to mind.

When I need help, advice, guidance, it’s his voice I long to hear most.

He was my Papa and I loved him more than words can say. When I think of honoring an ancestor, he is one that was truly worthy of honor.

Blessings,
Wicked