A blog is a funny thing. More often than not it is a place I feel safe writing about my feelings, my thoughts, my real life, my embarrassing moments, my children, my workouts, and most everything else.
Most of the time.
Today I want to write about my crazy week of training. The miles and miles and hours and hours I spent honing my body and mind for one of the hardest physical tests I will ever put it through. (I say one, because I still believe that nothing will ever even come close to childbirth.) I want to tell you about the raccoon and the cow and the baby turtle. I want to tell you about last night's dream. I want to write about Ryan and Kel's latest project in the basement and Noah's intolerance of shoes that leaves his feet black as the driveway and our couch just a little bit less so.
But I won't because yesterday my Grandpa breathed his last breath and all of that other stuff just doesn't seem right to want to write about. I hesitate to put this into words because when I read about loss I never know what to say, and at the same time realize that sometimes no words are necessary.
So know that my Grandpa lived a long life. He was quiet, which was a necessity if you lived with my Grandma. He was stoic, as many men of his generation are. He was loving in his own way and time. He could make sweet potato biscuits with no recipe, and I will forever think of him whenever I see Freedent gum and Coca Cola. I will miss him.