|My Grandpa, February 7, 1928--September 15, 2012|
When I first allowed myself to envision this day, I thought that I could be the one to write something for him…that maybe it had to be me because my grandpa and I had a special connection, we shared the love of words and putting them together with the goal of making someone feel something when they read them. But the more I really thought about it, the more I became aware of the fact that I wasn’t even close to being the only one to share that connection with him. That there are probably dozens and dozens of people who could write something just as meaningful if not more as what I’m sharing today.
I don’t do fluffy. And clichéd prose is something that I’m not capable of producing for the sake of saying what you’re supposed to say in times like this. I just want to write the words to go with the visions and the memories and feelings lodged in my head…The best way to prove that someone means the world to you is to allow yourself to see what moments are right there on the surface, always within reach no matter how much time has passed.
Moments I Can Recall Without Even Trying