My papaw died. I remember it like it was yesterday. Ryan and I sat down on the floor as my dad sat in his recliner and said he had something to tell us. I had never seen my dad cry until that day and I've only seen him cry 2 times since then. I often talk about Papaw and think about how proud he would be of all his grandchildren, half of which he never had the chance to meet. I think about how excited he would be to have a great grandson and another on the way. I think of how happy he would be at how much each of us has accomplished. I wish he and Tim could have met each other and maybe smoked pipes together while discussing life. I would have loved for him to make baby Robby's furniture for the nursery. He was an amazing man, with amazing stories. He was quick to admit the mistakes he had made in his life. As soon as I would walk in their house, I would go into the den and take my place on his lap. I would touch the tattoo on his forearm and ask him about it. "That was when I was young and dumb", he would tell me. When Ryan and I spent the night at Granny and Papaw's house, Ryan slept on the floor next to Granny's side of the bed and I would sleep on the floor next to Papaw's side of the bed. We would look over at each other under the bed, giggle and whisper. After a few minutes of that, Papaw would would tell us, "Time to quiet it down now". He told great stories and acted like we were the most important people in the world.
He loved his grandchildren, his daughters, his son-in-laws, and his wife so much.