Last night, I happened to look at the clock right before I went to bed, which I rarely ever do.
It read 8:31. At the exact same time, my great-grandpa drew his last breath.
Just the day prior to that, my grandma and I had gone to visit him on a whim, wrapping our minds around the fact that it might the last time we ever did.
It was heart-breaking.
Most of the time, he slept and moaned.
As I was preparing to leave, I held his hand, and he gripped mine.
I told him I loved him, and he whispered, almost soundlessly, that he loved me.
Then, he did his famous wink.
And I squeezed his hand one more time and left.
R.I.P. Grandpa.
Thank you for teaching me how to fish and always putting my worm on the hook, because I was too squeemish to.
Thank you for teaching me how to spell Mississippi.
Most of all, thank you for your love.
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