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My maternal grandfather passed away a year and a half ago.
He was the one person in my family that had never criticized or questioned where I was going in life, besides my paternal grandfather.
Through every drama-queen fit of histrionics, normal teenage angst--oh hell, even when I shat my pants when I was around four and started bawling, he would figuratively kick my ass and then pick me back up.
When I got diagnosed with severe clinical depression at only twelve
years old, he was there for me. When I dropped out of college, he was
there for me.
Even though he provided the money for my college education and my withdrawal wasted a great deal of his hard-earned money, he said nothing besides reassuring me he knew I was going to go on to do great things, no matter what, and he'd always be in my corner.
His quiet, unassuming confidence in me is something I find unbearable when I'm depressed. How could I ever live up to his expectations of me? I can't even put the right words to paper (or in this less romantic digital age--fingers to keyboard) to properly describe this man, let alone accomplish anything worthwhile or lasting.
My paternal grandfather passed away a couple of months ago.