{memories}

I don't remember a whole lot about last November--partly because I don't want to and partly because there are so many other good things to remember.
I do recall, however, one of the last conversations I had with my Papa. It was early November of last year. He was pretty sick but still sitting out in the living room and not just in his bedroom. I was recovering from an eye injury and I was tired of laying on our couch at home. So, I decided to go lay on his couch. He was sleeping when I got there so I just snuggled up on the couch and closed my eyes. After about ten minutes, my mom had wandered into the other room and he quietly asked how I was feeling. I smiled and told him I was doing good. He smiled back. Then we both resumed our naps.
At the time I don't really remember anything unusual about this conversation--probably because thats just the man my Grandpa was: others before himself. It was normal. But, looking back, I realize that there I was with an eye injury that wasn't all that serious in comparison to stage four lung cancer. But, yet, he wanted to know how I was doing.
He passed away the day before Thanksgiving and this year the date happens to fall on Thanksgiving. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm thankful that the very last thing he said to me was, "I love you, Aly" and I'm thankful for all the good, good memories. But, at the same time, I'm sad. Death is painful and messy and so, so real. I don't think there is anything more real than death. I'm a little mad still. Seventeen is way too young to lose anybody. Let alone your only grandparent. But, this year, I'm not going to conentrate on that. Or at least try not to. I'm going to concentrate on how blessed I was to have him in my life for those seventeen years.

"You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have truly lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love," -Henry Drummond