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The twentieth of April in 2002 was a bright and sunny day. I woke up on that Saturday with only one thought on my mind, ignoring my schoolwork and watching some television and not worry about looking for a summer job. I was 17 years old and had already had a rough time of it. Being in the middle of a serious bout of depression and not really motivated to finish my senior year of high school, I was not in a good place. It was in the middle of my nothing day, and feeling just as depressed as I had for the past few months that I got the call. It was my mother, calling to let me know that my grandfather had passed away. My immediate reaction was shock, there was no way he could be gone. I had just spoken to him the day before and he promised me that God would not call him away yet, he still had work to do here. Having been reassured by him and not liking hospitals, I had decided to not go see him at the hospital the day before. I have wished ever since that I had.

I could not comprehend why God would take this man out of my life. It was just a little bout of pneumonia and he was only 68 years old! I could not even find it in me to cry, I was angry and I knew exactly why. Life was screwing me over, again. My grandfather was the most extraordinary man I've ever met in my life. He held many job titles during his life and had a sincere passion for them all. He owned a thriving photography business when my mother was a little girl. Then he took up work in the family church while becoming a psychiatrist. He spent the majority of his life helping people. He counseled for the church, he counseled at the Utah State Prison. He never let anything get him down. Even when he lost his sight and the hearing in his left ear or when he had to get a pacemaker put in, he still was the most positive one in the family.

My grandfather was soft-spoken and never felt a need to shout to make his point understood. Whenever I would go over and visit, he'd pull me to sit on the arm of his recliner and tell him about my day. It did not matter who you were or what you had done wrong in your life, my grandfather saw you as no less of value to this world as he was. He had heard it all and there was nothing that could shock him anymore. He was the closest thing I ever had to a father figure. My own father was emotionally absent and then physically absent starting when I was 16. My mother's second husband was no better and I felt I had no one to turn to. It was then that my grandfather took his granddaughter under his wing and counseled me. I knew that I could tell him anything, and I did. He never judged me or condemned me for anything. He took sympathy for the hardships I had endured, hugged me and promised that if nothing else he loved me and would always be there for me.

He exemplified every good thing about humankind and spread light and joy wherever he went. I still can't understand why he had to be taken from my life when I needed him the most, but I live every day hoping to make him proud of the granddaughter he saved from a very dark place. I miss him every single day and think about him all the time. I secretly wish that everyone would cherish their loved ones, and tell them how much they are loved every day because you just never know what fate has is store. I know that as time goes on, I will stop missing him constantly and hurting so deeply, and instead will fondly remember him on important days and wish he could be there to see it. My ultimate goal is to be the type of woman he always told me that I could be.

Learn more about this author, Stefani Andrews.
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