Yesterday was my adorable Grandpa Max's 89th birthday. I can't even express what he means to me. As some of you know, I have some pretty screwed up parents, and my Grandpa truly makes me feel loved. He and my Grandma (who died of breast cancer/Alzheimer's in 1991) were always one of the only stable things in my childhood. He now lives (still independently) in northern Minnesota on a lake, and I try to go visit him a few times a year. It's funny because he takes care of me like I'm still a little girl, and it always makes me feel really special. He does cute little things like make ice cream sundaes at night, and tucks me into bed. We go to A&W drive in and eat coney dogs and root beer floats. We go hiking in the woods, or go to Itasca State park. Sometimes we just go for a drive and look at the leaves changing color. It's silly stuff, but I cherish the times we spend together.
He is the only person in the world who really, truly, unconditionally loves me. He's always proud of me regardless. He's my Papa, and I love him.