Today would have been my grandad’s 98th birthday. (And yes, I know it’s spelled “granddad”, but I always spelled it the other way when it came to him.) He was a tall, skinny, wonderful, loving man who would have smiled while giving you the shirt off his back. He worked so hard to care for his family. When my grandmother’s kidneys failed, he got trained to do kidney dialysis and they got a machine and she had treatments at home for years. He also put up with a lot from her. Though I loved her dearly, she was extremely overbearing and he took everything she dished out with grace and dignity. He passed away in 2000 and one of my greatest regrets is that he and O never met. They would have gotten a kick out of each other.
I got a call this morning from my grandfather’s niece who I hadn’t talked to in 10 years. She’d done some family history research and wanted to send me a copy. She didn’t remember that it was Grandad’s b-day, and I think that her getting in touch today of all days was his way of letting me know that he's still around. Sounds silly, but that’s what I think.
Happy birthday Grandad ~ I was so very blessed to be your granddaughter and miss you every day.
On the polar opposite extreme, last night our 20-year-old nephew (think pot-smoking hippie wannabe who fancies himself to be much smarter than he actually is) posted a video on his FB page which purports to show that it was a missile that hit the second Worl*d Trade Cent#er tower – not an airplane. I didn’t think it was physically possible to actually “see red”, but I did. I was and am livid. My response was that my dear friends who lost their only son on that very flight would be ecstatic to learn that he was, indeed alive and did not die in a fireball over NYC, because there was no plane and therefore, there were no passengers. I told him that I thought posting that video was shameful.
He is nothing if not predictable, and responded by saying that the shameful thing was the li*es our government told its’ people about what happened on 9/#11.
I attended the memorial service for our family friend. I heard his mother’s wails and watched as they nearly had to carry her from the chapel after the service was over. I saw his father’s eyes go from sparkling blue and full of life to sad and blank and wounded. I cannot imagine the horror they live with every day of their lives as they imagine their son’s final moments. And for our spoiled, smug, clueless nephew to post something like that feels like an attack on two of the best people I’ve ever known. It’s all I can do not to get in my car and drive to his parents’ house and tell him exactly what I think of him. But I won’t. He’d love the attention. And nothing would change.
Aaaaah family – ya gotta love ‘em.
I got a call this morning from my grandfather’s niece who I hadn’t talked to in 10 years. She’d done some family history research and wanted to send me a copy. She didn’t remember that it was Grandad’s b-day, and I think that her getting in touch today of all days was his way of letting me know that he's still around. Sounds silly, but that’s what I think.
Happy birthday Grandad ~ I was so very blessed to be your granddaughter and miss you every day.
On the polar opposite extreme, last night our 20-year-old nephew (think pot-smoking hippie wannabe who fancies himself to be much smarter than he actually is) posted a video on his FB page which purports to show that it was a missile that hit the second Worl*d Trade Cent#er tower – not an airplane. I didn’t think it was physically possible to actually “see red”, but I did. I was and am livid. My response was that my dear friends who lost their only son on that very flight would be ecstatic to learn that he was, indeed alive and did not die in a fireball over NYC, because there was no plane and therefore, there were no passengers. I told him that I thought posting that video was shameful.
He is nothing if not predictable, and responded by saying that the shameful thing was the li*es our government told its’ people about what happened on 9/#11.
I attended the memorial service for our family friend. I heard his mother’s wails and watched as they nearly had to carry her from the chapel after the service was over. I saw his father’s eyes go from sparkling blue and full of life to sad and blank and wounded. I cannot imagine the horror they live with every day of their lives as they imagine their son’s final moments. And for our spoiled, smug, clueless nephew to post something like that feels like an attack on two of the best people I’ve ever known. It’s all I can do not to get in my car and drive to his parents’ house and tell him exactly what I think of him. But I won’t. He’d love the attention. And nothing would change.
Aaaaah family – ya gotta love ‘em.
