My last living grandparent died Thursday morning. After days of sitting by his bed, being told he only has "hours, not days" to live we all would just hold our breath as grandpa would take each one of his. Throughout those days I realized that grandpa was such a fighter. He fought for our country in three wars, at a very young age, not even finishing a formal education. He then went and fought for my grandma for her hand in marriage. I loved this story because my grandma was so stubborn and thought that no one would love her and you wouldn't have met a person that loved her more. He fought for his family, even when we all thought he would be so dissapointed, he still gave sound advice. He fought for a good work ethics, every time I go to downtown Portland next to Good Samaritan Hospital I think about my grandfather and how proud he was that he made a good living from such a small amount of education. He fought Alzheimers, he constantly knew his mind was going but still would break out of the nursing home, tell me that he knew he sounded crazy but to bear with him. He had such a hard time with his dimensia and losing his freedoms. It was hard for me to watch as little by little he was able to manage less and less. This was a man that never gave up.
But most of all he fought in the cause to bring people to Christ. I can't thank him enough for participating in the furthering of the gospel to my husband, Dave. I never saw him without having some discussion about God or about how much he cared about the dealings of the future of the Church.
He was such a great leader, and though stubborn sometimes, I loved him dearly. I, being the youngest and only adopted grandchild, never realized until a couple of months ago, that my grandfather never treated me anything but of his own flesh and blood. I knew he had fought in 3 wars against asian people and was probably trained to hate them but he made me feel, probably like all the other grandchildren, like I was his favorite.
Grandpa, you were my favorite too.
