I try not to 'go there' but I'm human.
I try to look at the bright side of things. I try to focus on the positive. I really am grateful for what I have.
But birthdays and Flag Day are the days I can't help but think of what a kick-ass grandpa my dad WAS to my neice, and would have been,
could have been,
SHOULD have been, to E & E.
Seven years ago today my father passed away.
The Twofer were three weeks old.
(Grief and sleep deprivation combined feel like the worst hangover you ever had... times 10.)
For three weeks he got to shine as their grandpa, although mostly on the phone.
Many of us feel the only reason he kept fighting on was to see them,
to meet them,
to hold them.
And he did get to do all of that.
For one, brief 48 hour period he got to be there for them in person and he packed a lifetime of grandpa into those 48 hours.
He took them for a walk in the stroller.
He gave them a painting he did of lavendar fields in Provence for their room.
He helped bathe them.
He played with them.
He fed them.
He burped them.
He consoled them.
He sang to them.
He rocked them.
He cried holding them.
He was human.
He once told me, "I'm not afraid to die. I'm just sad about what I'll miss out on."
Me too Daddy.
Love you and miss you always,