For years I dreamt about him, standing out in the cotton field, waving as we drove by, I would shout Look there's grandpa, and he would be gone. I guess thats how I dealt with it, at 8 years old. I, among the masses of our family adored Grandpa. He towered above me, but never once did I feel anything but love from him. I loved to sit in his lap and sing songs, Down in the Valley, being my favorite. There was a yellow book of camp songs that I would get out. I would climb in his lap and we would sing every page, starting with She'll be Coming Round the Mountian, and ending with Be kind to your Web Footed friend. My other favorite thing to do with Grandpa, was wrap his head with kleenex and masking tape. I was sure this procedure would help grow his hair back. Then there was another time we drew on his head, faces, so when he leaned forward in his chair it looked like a man. I was really very lucky to have gotten to live so close to Grandpa. I got to spend a lot of time with him. I've often felt sorry for myself for not having more time with him, but I feel even worse for those who never knew what a great and loving man he was, those who never sang a song with him.
Chronic pain, second opinions, and drugs
1 day ago