My grandmother died on Friday, August 12, 2016. I’ve thought about whether to write about this, how to write about this, and if it was even possible to intro this delicately. No matter how I’ve approached the topic it’s always this blunt fact staring me in the face. Not allowing me tact or suave. It’s raw and real and maybe it’s supposed to be that way.
Most would say it was cancer that caused this. It’s true, she did have cancer. She fought several rounds with cancer and by God’s grace beat most of them, even the one when we almost lost her a few years ago due to the removal surgery alone.
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Parenting has been simultaneously one of the hardest things in my life and one of the most joy-filled, and joy-producing, things as well. It’s so hard to be woken up at 8:00 in the morning on the weekend, or in the morning at all on the weekend, but nothing compares to seeing that little man smile as he pulls himself up on me after he drinks his bottle and starts to play with us. He’s so happy and playful and it lights up the room.
A couple weeks ago I wrote about 
