Remembering G.N.

Eleven years ago today, I lost my grandfather George.  Everyone called him G.N. (George Nelson).  Well, I didn't, I called him Grandpa.

Eleven years ago.  Seems impossible it was that long ago.  He went into the hospital with heart and diabetes complications late in the summer of 1998.  He was a big baseball fan.  I remember wishing he could see what was going on with Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa that year, chasing the homerun record.

There aren't any days that go by that I don't think of him, but today and his birthday, November 29, are especially relevant.  It's on these days that I think about my Dad, my Grandma, my Aunt, my cousins, my sister, everyone that he touched.

He was the ideal Grandpa.  He taught me a lot, probably without knowing.  I like to think he's looking down on me and at least somewhat proud at the human I turned out to be.

The last time I saw him was in Kingston General Hospital, when he actually appeared to be on the rebound.  There were a handful of relatives in the room and he was coherent and "with it".  He was being G.N.  I broke down and sobbed.  The last thing he ever told me was that I had guts for not being afraid to cry in front of all the people that were in that room.  I like to think he was right.