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I have lots of time to myself lately, which is good and bad. It is good because I am starting to realize the important things without being clouded by what is going on around me. It is bad because I tend to over think.

Tonight when I was getting into bed I looked at the pictures I have lining a window behind me. There are two of my grandfather and I thought to myself that is how I want to remember him, happy. I want to remember him when he remembered himself still. I want to remember him before the disease took over. I hate that people judge him for how he acts now and just wish they knew the man I know. I wish they could hear the stories I got sick of hearing.

His writings are everywhere… and now even the writings are sad. When I was last there he had a note out saying… I’m out smoking about all I can do. Before his writings were filled with such passion and things I’m not sure I want to know about the war, about his feelings towards my dad, or about life in general.

It seems so unfair that we can live in this world a lifetime and then lose it all, but our lifetime not be over. It seems so tragic. It makes me wonder what is the purpose of this illness that rots your mind? Is surely isn’t for the person who is “lost.” Which means it is for those of us they leave behind. What is the lesson? And does that lessen the blow?

I ask this question, but have no answer. I wish I did, I wish I could make this all easier and better, but it isn’t. This is the hand God dealt my family. This is what brings us together, this is what makes us stronger.

Today I am smiling for the love my family has.