Last week, Daddo died. He was my grandpa from Wisconsin. He got cancer last summer shortly after I visited him and my grandma, "Maggie," with my mother. At 87, he opted not to do chemo, and in April, his cancer came back. We found out about it just as we were leaving the country. Thankfully, I took Tom to meet Maggie and Daddo in December as we traveled back from our first trip to Flint, Michigan.
Daddo was a paratrooper who jumped on D-Day at Normandy with the 82nd Airborne. Of the 41 men in his unit he was one of the 22 survivors, so he probably appreciated living to 88 years old in a way most of us will never understand, should we get to grow so old.
Getting coffee with Maggie and Daddo last December
3 comments:
So sorry, Hannah. It's hard, huh? Sending condolences and a hug and lots of compassion.
Thinking and praying for you and your family.
Thanks for posting this... I am so glad that you made the huge effort to see him in December. A very precious memory now....
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