Sunday, October 13, 2002


Grief has a nasty way of sneaking up on you and pouncing when you aren't expecting it. While cleaning out a box of odds and ends, I came across my Grandpa's old pocket knife. He died almost 10 years ago at the end of November 1992. He always had that knife in his pocket. I was just sitting there, happy and peaceful, thinking of him and for some strange reason I held the knife up near my face and the stupid knife still smells like my Grandpa. That machine shop smell that I always associate with my Grandpa still clung to the knife and as soon as I realized it I began to cry. I don't think I've cried as hard since his funeral. It was as if I were mourning his loss all over again. No matter what, he was there for me, supporting me and loving me. I knew that as long as he was around I was completely safe and secure because he'd always take care of me. It was a wonderful feeling. With him I never felt as if I had to earn his love and approval. I didn't have to be anything other than myself. I will miss him forever.

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