Tales of a Secret Rockstar

My Grandpa died on December 14, his birthday. He was 77 years old. I really waited to write anything, because I wanted to give him some kind of fitting tribute before I moved on with my blog. I really wanted to write a poem, and that still might come later. But for now, I think I will say this.

My grandfather was a man who made me feel at home. It didn't really matter who I was, I was always the same to him. If that makes sense. I guess I knew he loved me no matter what I did or who I was. I felt like I didn't have to prove anything to him. He was always so proud of me. And I know he prayed for me all the time. He was special to me. When I was little, he was one of my best friends. He had so much wisdom. I always admired that. I want that. When I was an insecure, geeky highschool kid, he still made me feel at home. It didn't matter to him. That meant alot to me. And as I grew up, and he got sick and more distant, I still always loved and respected him. He was always wise and loving. He cared. He was a warrior. He wouldn't back down from spiritual opposition. He had alot of faith. I respect him. I'll miss him alot. But I know he's finished his course, and he fought a good fight. He has nothing to regret. That makes me happy. I think that's the way it should be.