There are many stories I could share about my grandpa. One I won’t forget is when I lived with my grandparents and I was sick. We kind of knew why but no one was sure. I didn’t tell anyone how sick I was. I hid it from even my family. When I would drink everything in the house and my grandpa got mad I felt awful I had done it. But I couldn’t help how thirsty I was. I had lost down to around 70 pounds in 8th grade. (13 about to turn 14). Finally when I was diagnosed a diabetic, my grandma told me how bad my grandpa had felt for getting mad at me over the drinks in the house. I told him it was ok, he couldn’t have known. But I hate he felt so bad for it. I had lost a ring during that time and I looked so hard for it. Mostly by where my grandpa parked when he got home from work. Thinking I had lost it when I would run to his car when he got home. One day he was making coffee and he told me he had found my ring in the coffee can. I guess it fell of making coffee. My grandpa was always there. I woke up from my transplant in New Orleans and he was there. I’m told he came to Birmingham when I lost my transplant but sadly I don’t recall as I was almost dead when they rushed me to surgery. Every hospital stay I’ve had, every everything he was there. I miss him everyday. Still after 6 years. Happy birthday to my grandpa. I Know he’s with me all the time