Yesterday was the 20th anniversary of what my family calls St. Jude's Day. My grandfather had open heart surgery on March 17th, 1987, and had one of his heart valves replaced, which was defective at birth. Every year, on March 17th, we would call him, and send him St. Patrick's Day cards, to wish him a Happy St. Jude's Day. We call it St. Jude's because that was the company that made the heart valve that was put into my grandfather's heart.
The doctors told him after the surgery that if everything went perfect, he would live 10-12 years. He lived 18 years, and didn't pass away due to anything associated with his heart...he passed away from cancer.
He told me one time that he never thought he'd live to be as old as he was. He was 77 when he passed away, still a young man. But, he felt that he had lived a long life, and had experienced many things. A good job, retirement, a loving wife, 3 kids, 7 grandkids, 3 great-grandkids, travels around the world, and so on.
I miss him terribly. I miss our conversations at Christmas time. I miss the times I'd call over there and he'd answer the phone, and he'd talk with me for a minute before passing me over to my grandmother. I miss the advice he would give about life in general, and the advice on how to fix things that broke (he knew how to fix everything!). I miss knowing that I could go to him and share my passions (music) and he'd be completely supportive, and tell me to keep it up. I miss walking in the house through the garage door, seeing him sitting at the corner of the bar, and he'd give me a big bear hug, asking me, "How's my big girl?" I miss hearing my grandmother and him cutting up with each other.
I love you Papa!
