His deep, throaty words of encouragement always came so easily.
“Attaboy, B.H.! … That’s the way … Way to go.”
Shot after shot in the backyard, my grandpa’s praise kept coming as he passed back my basketball. Sometimes I wanted him to be there, but other times my preference was to be left alone.
Originally written in 2012 on another blog site, after the passing of my grandma.
There are few people I’ve had a harder time figuring out in my life than my grandmother. A good example of this were some of the last words she ever spoke. She had a small stroke (that’s what we’re calling it) on a Monday night last month in her recliner. I called 911 and we got her to the Emergency Room, where she spent the night. The next evening she was cleared to come home. I came and got her, and as we were driving home I asked her if she was scared when she was having the stroke. Predictably, she didn’t answer the question.