My Mom just called me an hour ago to tell me my Great-Grandfather passed away. The funeral is tomorrow, so I'm flying out at Noon, and I'll head back tomorrow evening.
He was 94, so he lived a full life, I suppose. Growing up, I remember him telling me and my cousins old war stories. One time his group was holed up in an office building and eventually found themselves surrounded by the enemy. Pretty soon, the Nazis had lit it on fire and were shooting people as they ran out. Grandpa was the sole survivor, because he was the only person small enough to squeeze through a back window and escape.
That story always stuck in my mind because if it wasn't for his small frame and that window, a good chunk of our family, myself included, wouldn't be here.
So anyway, I suppose funerals are a part of life- it just caught me unexpectedly. I suppose they always do.
10/10/2007
Not all Firsts are good
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Hey Lara, I was reading about your grandfather and was effected in a very personal way by his story of survival. A truly moving example of how we should live our lives...for all of the tomorrows.
My condolances go out to you and you are correct, death is a part of life. Enjoy your tomorrows, Lara, all of them...
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