Ten Years Gone

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.

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For Donna

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.

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