It has been a long emotional week. Late monday night my sister and I got a call from Hawaii (where I'm from) and my adopted Grandfather had been taken to the hospital unresponsive. At first I thought he might have a chance and texted my mom to let me know when she knew anything. She called me at midnight to tell me that he was gone. He had went onto the porch with a glass of wine to watch the sunset and when my grandma had gone out to talk to him he was slumped over, the glass shattered on the ground, and not responding to her. When the ambulance got there they tried to administer CPR but he was gone.
It hit me really hard. He was 93 years old and he wasn't blood but he meant a lot to me. He had a long and full life full of so many experiences. I spent a couple days a week with him in junior high as he tutored me in math, english, and science. He would tell me story after story of people he met being a pilot. About growing up on a farm and going to a one room school house. How he came to Hawaii and was on the Aloha Airlines airfield the day Pearl Harbor was bombed. It was so much fun spending time with him and even hearing the same stories over and over again. I would spend some weekends there hanging out with his grandaughter and he would always make us pancakes for breakfast. They were the most amazing pancakes ever. Even if we woke up late we would ask him to make them for us and he loved doing it.
When it hit me that I would never have another pancake breakfast again I broke down. It is hard to lose someone and Grandpa Howard was the first someone I lost that really meant something to me. I do have the comfort that Grandma believes he had the Lord and we will see him in heaven. But I still call expecting to hear him answer "Dorothy's answering service..." and wishing I could go over for another pancake breakfast.
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