A little therapy and ...I don't know what.

Warning. This will be about loss. It's a hard topic. I understand anyone who wishes to not read on if it's uncomfortable or too fresh a relatable topic.

I love you too.

The last four years has been a series of tragedies and sorrow overlapping and unending.

The last 48 hours have been devastating.

But first, let me tell you about the man.

A man of deep empathy, patience and understanding for good has passed.

My grandfather. A man who was thrust with the responsibility to raise a stray teenager and took it like a father to a newborn. His guidance and life lessons shape my character.

I'm six foot one inch tall. He stood a few inches taller. Built like a tank standing up, he could grow the most delicate flowers for his wife. He had a gentle hand to anyone who needed one and could lay a man out flat before they saw the backhand coming if they earned it.

He posted bail when I was brought in for assault. Beat the ever living shit out of a piece someone at a punk show who started shouting racist shit at our drummer.

Grandpa stood behind me in court, as my representation. He figured if beating the shit out of a Nazi was wrong, his time in war was on trial as well.

He didn't talk a lot about that time. Mostly he shared funny training camp or pauses in the action stories. He spoke once of time helping with recovering camps after the German army surrendered. I never asked again. I watched his eyes fade with the memories brought up to tell me. Eyes that shone like clear blue mountain lakes darkened grey almost. The glimmer of blue returning with the color in his cheeks.

He worked hard all his life. Poverty and hardship took his childhood. Yet he retained his childlike wonder and humor to the end. Joking with nurses while hospice was starting. A lot of nurses came to say goodbye. A few came from home.

Multiple organ failure. Unrecoverable. My grandmother held his right hand and I his left. He passed peacefully. With family around.

I can not explain what I am feeling right now. It is too deep.

My artistic spark. My soul. The fiber of my joy. I lost it sometime last year. What and who I am hasn't been functioning. (Long overdue, and apologetically explaining very overdue commissions. They are on my mind daily too.)

I was slowly feeling the ember of art returning to my core. I am still.

Loosing a core member of my family is gutting. He was always there supporting my efforts to be an artist. I carry his advice, guidance and life lessons. Always will. I have been sharing some of those things with nieces and nephews for ten years. My wife's family is large. Seeing some of those lessons bearing positive results in them tells me he will be unknowingly echoing through many lives to come. A memory if you will excuse the poor analogy.

Tonight I am staying with my parents and Grandma. She won't remember today most likely. Tomorrow her mind resets to varying degrees.

I will hold her hand and tell her what a good man her husband was. I will do this for a couple days and the information will start to be retrievable in her memories. Then we grieve together.

I'll leave you all with this.

Be kind. Share the load even if it isn't asked for.

Never be afraid to say you don't know. It can be learned. Ask for and share knowledge openly. Without judgement.

Care for yourself. You matter to someone.

Me at the very least. I care.