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I was blessed with the opportunity to live with Grandpa during my college years. I remember giving him a kiss on the cheek each night before bed. I learned to sleep through the noise of the firehouse radios blaring throughout the bought. In time, the noise became a comfort to me. He gave me a home, when I had no place else. The noise of the radios meant safety to me. I was for the first time safe, and living with the man who loved me since birth. In spite of my quirks and humor, he loved me, and protected me. It was much to his dismay that he took in the only grand daughter that didn't know how to cook. But still, he loved me, accepted me, and gave me a home. He wasn't one to talk about what was bothering him, or about what was bothering me; but his expressive blue eyes said it all. When ever he would see that I was frustrated with school work, he would say, " You're looking a little sour. Come for a ride with me to get ice cream, maybe it'll sweeten you up a bit". That was his way of telling me he understood that I was struggling with something, and his way of letting me know he was there, and he loved me.
Last week I was blessed to spend my last weekend with him. I was happy to be with him when he woke up at 12:30 a.m. to attend to his needs. It semmed things had come full circle, when I said, " You look a little sour, how about some pudding to sweeten you up a bit". He looked at me, and understood. I was happy to reciprocate the love he had always given me.
~Sarah