Grandpa

On the Tues­day before Hal­lowe’en, at 11:20 at night, my phone rang. Through the won­der of call dis­play, I saw that it was my sis­ter in Win­nipeg call­ing. That time of night, it’s prob­a­bly not going to be good news.

My grand­fa­ther had died at 11:00 that night. He was 88 years old, and he went, like Grand­ma in April, qui­et­ly in his sleep.

The old­est Hrushowy in our line with the youngest in his arms.

Inter­est­ed in prints of my pho­tos? Let me know, and we can work some­thing out.