75 years

Seventy-five years ago today my grandpa was born.  The same grandpa who left us just last month.  If he were still here he would not want a fuss made over his birthday, he never did.  A quite day at home I’d imagine, and maybe a comment or two, made only to his faithful little dog, about being another year older.

It’s been a tough month.  I find myself thinking about my grandpa often during the day, during the quiet times of Abbi’s naps.  I miss him in the little things, the day to day things that often go unnoticed.  When Abbi smiles I can hear him say, “She such a happy baby!” or when she crawls up on my lap, “Wasn’t too long ago that you were crawling up on your momma’s and grandma’s laps.”  When I picture walking into their house, I so badly want to see him sitting at the kitchen table with a big smile on his face, saying, “Well, who’s this good lookin’ stranger?”

I miss him.