About decade ago I left a brand-new job in the big city to care for my grandmother (and grandfather) during her hospice care at the end of her brief but painful fight against pancreatic cancer. Useful. Responsible. Honorable. Compassionate. Counted. Stood. Made an incredibly huge difference. For 32 days, served a purpose for which no one else on Earth was “made.” More often than not, I feel that my purpose has been served. Now what?
It was twelve years ago on this date that my grandmother ended her battle with cancer and went home. Eleven months to the day later, my grandfather followed her.