And then it hit me.

Max

The psyche is a funny thing.

My paternal grandfather died on Friday, after a long period of being in and out of the hospital with heart problems.  I thought that I, while sad, was dealing with things fairly well until today, when I started thinking about my grandmothers and damn near collapsed from tears.

Perhaps it is just regret at not being able to go to the funeral, perhaps just normal mourning, but it was remembering my maternal grandmother's funeral that got to me.  Something about, just, well, all of it.

I haven't talked about it too much, and really had no intention of mentioning it here.  Then I remembered that that's the reason I have a blog – to put stuff like this out there and out of my head.

So.

I love this picture of my grandfather.  I have no idea who took it, or even when.  I only remember it being on the wall of my mom's house for, well, forever.  It was my grandfather's favorite photo of himself.  He was a huge fan of westerns and of Louis Lamour novels in particular; this was his cowboy photo.

Goodbye.

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