My First Grandfather Story

I have no grandfather stories.

My mother’s father died of a ruptured appendix when she was 12.

My father’s father died when I was nine months old, when my family was preparing to move to Florida. My father had taken a job in Jacksonville and was already working there when he got the call that his dad was failing fast. My father drove like a maniac to New Orleans to get us and then on to Shreveport. By the time we arrived, my grandfather could barely recognize anyone, but he kept asking for the baby. When they placed me on his bed, he touched me and smiled. He died a few hours later.

To continue reading, please see my post at The High Calling. This week, the final week for essay content, The High Calling is featuring “Best of the Editors,” stories selected by the editors themselves as favorites. This one of mine was originally published in 2010, a few months after the birth of my first grandson, Cameron. My second grandson, Caden, was born in 2012. And Jacob arrived in May of this year.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.