This post should have been written a while ago.
I did't want to write it because it would be like admitting it were true.
And true is the last thing I wanted this to be.
In 1991, my Great Aunt, Great Uncle and their family moved to Tennessee.
My younger brother was still an infant and they had come to care for us while Mom and Dad were at work.
Soon, we were all closer than any of us ever imagined.
When Bryant started talking, he referred to them as Mama Grace and Daddy Carl and it is a name that has stuck through all of these years.
Daddy Carl, Mama Grace, Me and Nanny
My Grandparents picture at my wedding
One day, Daddy Carl and I were going somewhere.
The man on the radio was talking about Servicemen.
"You know I was in the military, don't you?" he said, pride obvious in his voice.
I looked at him, inquisitive (as any seven year old would have been) and asked,
"Were you in the Civil War?"
Then, he did something people rarely saw him do.
He laughed.
A big thunderous laugh.
A laugh that gave me the giggles.
Today, that laugh is echoing in my head.
Back in November, he was having some pain in his side.
The doctors told him he needed to have his gallbladder removed and scheduled him for surgery.
Fluid on his lungs prevented him from being able to go through with the surgery.
Later, tests of the fluid would show he had Lymphoma.
A battle both his wife and one of his daughters had fought and won.
Four months of fighting later, things aren't looking good.
Today, we are a broken hearted family.
Praying for the best, but preparing for the worst.
