Three days ago, on Father’s Day, I lost someone very special to me. This person was, in large part, responsible for teaching me about living with Rheumatoid Arthritis and how to make the most of a body that was virtually worthless. The man didn’t have any disease at all (at least until the last few years of his life), but he knew hardship, and he knew how to overcome it. My maternal grandfather was my mentor, my teacher, and one of my greatest champions.
I have been fortunate in my life to not be touched by death until now. I was not close with my paternal grandparents, and my maternal grandmother is sill alive and kickin’ at 94. So, this is truly the first time that I or any of my siblings have experienced the death of a close loved one, and fate made sure that we got all caught up in one fell swoop.