I love my wife.
A few days after Christmas, my grandfather passed away. He's someone I looked up to, someone I always wanted to impress, someone whose boots I don't know if I can ever fill, and someone I'll forever miss. (I'm sure I'll talk about him more on Plan D over the next few months.)
I wanted to speak at his funeral. I was considering it even before we arrived in Arizona (that side of my family lives in the Phoenix area), and days before the funeral, my mother told me there would be an opportunity for people to speak at the service. I had some thoughts about what I would prepare, shuffling through all the memories I have about my grandfather, all the experiences we shared, eveything he (directly and indirectly) taught me, but all of what I wanted to say was weighed down by my realizing that the first piece of writing I'm completing in the new year was something about my dead grandfather.
It was really getting to me, and I think it was the day before the actual service when I told Brenda as much.
She told me I was being "morbid" and helped me to think about what I was doing in a different way. I wasn't writing something sad, depressing or morbid. She said, "You're writing an homage to your grandfather."
And that made all the difference.
A lot of people have given me and my family love and support while we have gone through the process to saying goodbye to my grandfather, and I appreciate you all. Thank you so much for your kind words, your thoughts, your hugs and your love.
And thank you, Brenda, for helping me find a moment of light in honoring my Grampa.