It's been 12 years since my grandfather passed away. I think he would be 92 today if he was still alive. But he's still alive in my brain, or his spirit is still with me. Papa battled prostrate cancer for many years. It's still hard for me to get past those last years. I remember kneeling by his bed, and singing old hymns to him with the old tape recorder. Many tears came out like a flood while I was there. The finality of a life came too me on my last visit, and it was so overwhelming. I think I had hoped for a miracle. He was so strong to me, even laying in that bed, all I could see was Papa, my strong Papa. There was even moments when he thought he was still strong Papa, for a moment once, he tried to get out of the bed and get me to go for a ride. I so wanted to take him on that ride, but no one would have it. He joked when Mema and Tamara were in the other room, that I could sneak him out the back door. I just laughed, and cried all in the same breath. Even writing this now, I get kind of overwhelmed. I think of that verse "Jesus wept". He cried because he knew the reality of Heaven. I think my tears were mainly selfish tears, because I didn't want to let him go. But now I can cry because I know He's waiting for us, but I do still miss him. He loved all of us so much. I still see his big hands, I can still see his eyes, when he was looking at me. I can see him smiling. I can see me and Sherry hiding, waiting for him to come in from work, to scare him, every time he played along and acted scared. Happy birthday Papa! We all love you!