My mother’s father was born in 1920, and served in the Civilian Conservation Corps in Yellowstone National Park, where he once had a bear walk through his tent. He worked for dozens of years at a garment factory in Olive Hill, KY, producing uniforms for the various armed services. At the funeral of my grandmother, some 15 or so years ago, he broke down over the casket and weeped until I thought he could have no tears left. Growing up, he was always a gentle, kind man. Just last year my Mother visited him to find him on the roof of his house, checking for leaks.
My Grandfather went into the hospital today for pneumonia…and at 84, even a common cold is a serious thing. So I’m a little preoccupied with worrying about him. The hospital assures us that he’s recovering, and that most of the danger has past. His fever has broken, and x-rays show the infection seems to be localized in a small part of his left lung. He is conscious, and coherent, and in good spirits.
But I’m still going to worry until he gets home.
