casinova

The loss of another is an extremely difficult thing. To think that the place that that individual held in your life will forever be empty, to believe that this individual that meant so much to you will never set another step, live another day, and move another in the way that they moved me. My grandfather was a simple man, he never wanted more in life than what he was given, he was never touched by the corruption of money, he never knew the blackening stain of television. He was a minimalist in every sense of the word. He knew what the taste of fertile earth was, knew that the sweat of a mans brow is what determines his worth, his tanned leather grazed skin knew years of suffering, but the strength and will to survive and to continue truly living never left his soul till he was stricken with an illness that there is no returning from. Nothing like death to take on more of a lost breed of men from us. I have worked most of my current adult life trying to be only a millionth of the good man my grandfather was. He touched my life in the few months i knew him during my vacations home than most people have in the years of knowing them. He was an inspiration of what men where capable of when they did only what they thought was right in their hearts and right for others. If there was any other version of the man than the one i knew then they are different people because the only man that i knew is the one that will always live with me in my galvanized heart.