Thank you Grandpa

Growing up, I remember my Grandpa telling me stories about being at Pearl Harbor when it was attacked during WWII.

"I survived." He would say. "But most of my friends didn't."

And as December 7th drew closer he would always be a litttle more quiet, and spend more time alone. He didn't talk alot about what his mind must have been replaying, but he would make sure we all knew what that day meant.

I, in all my childhood wisdom, thought he was a little dramatic about the whole thing.
I don't anymore. I wish I would have told him thank you more often for what he did. What he survived.
He died 17 years ago. On December 17th.


On the day my last daughter was born, as I was laying in the hospital bed, holding and smiling at her. I realized what the date was.

December 7th.

I guess God helped me to be able to say thank you to my Grandpa in a way only He could.

Thank you.