Wednesday February 25th

I miss my Grandpa. He always had the best advice. Even if sometimes it was, "Get your f__king act together kid", "You aren't really that stupid, are you?", and my all time favorite, "Why are you screwing up your face like that when you talk to me, don't you think it might get stuck like that? Then who's going to marry you?" I can hear him in his strong New England accent, laughing as he spouts these crass remarks, and then proceeds to tell me the reason why I’m doing everything all wrong in life.
A Scotsman with a strong personality, Grandpa never disappointed us with his blunt opinions and sarcastic banter. Unfortunately in November 2005, Grandpa suffered a stroke that paralyzed the left side of his body and his ability to speak. And just last year, he and Grandma relocated to West Virginia to live with my Aunt Sharyn. While I'm thankful he's alive and for the kind-hearted man he's become, I miss his laughter and his intellect. Most of all, I miss our talks. For some sick reason, I miss my ass being handed to me. I miss his letters, the anger that would erupt after reading them and the digression once I realized just how right he was.
A letter from Grandpa meant that I screwed up. One once said that I shouldn’t be surprised that I’d wind up dating an alcoholic if I met a man in a bar, another with a picture of me said I should seriously think about joining a gym, there were many about cleaning up my room. He was funny and rude, but always had our best intentions at heart. It’s during times of angst or when I do something I know he would be proud when I miss him the most.