It has been 21 years since you’ve been gone, 21 years since you hugged me, 21 years since I’ve seen you fishing in the pond. I remember that day with more clarity than 9/11. I was 9 years old and my brother Ben and I were about to head to the bard to feed the animals when the phone rang. We immediately knew it was something bad by our Mom’s reaction, Dad wasn’t home at the time and after a brief Q & A we were told that Dad was fine.
As Ben and I went ahead with our chores we discussed what may have happened, I brought up the thought that perhaps something had happened to you our Grandpa. After many tears on Mom’s part and Dad finally arriving home, he sits all 4 of us kids down and tells you died. You had sat down in a chair and keeled over and they were unable to resuscitate you.
This was Tuesday, the previous Saturday Dad had taken Ben, our younger sister Katelyn and I to see you and Grandma. I almost didn’t want to go but I am so glad I did and I was able to give you one last hug and say goodbye. I didn’t know it was the last time I would see you and I wish it wasn’t but life isn’t fair and it must go on.
My Grandpa died of Heart disease from being an alcoholic for most of his life, he had been sober for the last 2 years of his life. He was what you called functional alcoholic, he wasn’t one to get what you would call shitfaced (pardon my french) but he drank beer like most people drink water throughout the day in little glass bottles that only held 6 or 8 ounces.