One of my best friends went home last Saturday. I'm so happy for him.
He was a master story-teller... and a cut-up.
He was heroic all of his life, not just because he was a soldier, but because he took care of people every chance he got.
He was a sweet hearted man.
His nephews say he was the only one of the brothers that smiled. And what a smile it was.
He prayed for us every single day, until he was no longer able to speak clearly
I loved seeing life through his eyes.
He always had time for my children.
He was a patient playmate,
being both a flower picking assistant or
"The Monster", depending on who he was playing with.
Even at the end of his life, he would visibly perk up when they came to visit him- smiling, trying to sit up and talk to them.
He got to where he asked about his brothers, mother, and father many times a day. He often said he wanted to go home.
Sometimes home meant the house he lived in for 50 years with his wife and children and sometimes it was the home he grew up in with his brothers. Toward the end, I don't know if he knew, he just didn't feel right and wanted to be somewhere he felt he belonged.
He is home now.