That's him. He was my favorite person in the world.
My name is Karrah. I'm 20 years old, and my grandfather, my Pa, died of liver cancer. It was almost two years ago, on March 25, 2008. He had been sick for a while, but no one ever could figure out what was wrong. He was finally diagnosed with liver cancer that February, and it had progressed significantly. Hospice was called in, and he died at home six weeks later.
I was really close with my Pa. I was sick when I was little, and he was retired, so I stayed with him a lot, and he took care of me. He drove me to and from school all through elementary and middle school. He even drove me to campus every day my first year of college, all the way up until he got sick. We used to go to breakfast together a lot. We would watch The Price Is Right, and make cinnamon rolls, and listen to country music in the car. I was always excited to tell him about a new song I heard that I thought he would like, or tell him I was going to a concert of one of our favorite singers.
I haven't dealt with his death very well. My family doesn't really talk about it. No one wants to upset anyone else. So I always end up crying alone. Sometimes I talk to my best friend about him, but I don't want to burden her all the time.
Not to mention the fact that it's been two years, and I feel like it shouldn't still be this hard. I still can't hardly talk about him or think about him without crying. It's been two years. Shouldn't I be at that stage by now where I can think about him and smile? All I think about is how much I miss him and how painful it was to see him at the end, when he was in so much pain himself.
I miss him so so much.