I sat on the floor with my knees tucked in and my back up against the hospital wall.
With my shoulder, I wiped away what felt like the 104th tear as I watched my other family members pace, talk quietly and quickly embrace each person that came out of the room with a heavy heart.
On the other side of that wall was my Grandpa — the war veteran who stormed the beaches of Normandy, and the cheerleader who showed up to every one of my basketball games. The man who loved and raised my father, and the all-time dealer for the holiday family card games.
A few days prior he had suffered a stroke that left him in a body he couldn’t move.