Tracey Robertson -- walking for -- James Huller

My grandfather was a man of few words which made our last hours together even more significant.  Even though I always knew how much he loved me, being able to speak the words and share the feelings just made everything make so much more sense.   Knowing we left nothing unsaid meant I had no regrets and this gave me the strength to help my family deal with their loss.  The two people I would typically turn to in such an hour of pain; my father and grandmother needed me.  The timing of his death meant I was the one who had to tell his wife and son that he was gone.  As much as I was suffering the pain of losing my grandfather, their pain of losing a husband and father respectfully meant I had to draw strength from him.  It was the only way I could do what I knew he needed me to do. 

I still draw strength from him every day.  The way he lived his life absent of judgment.  The way he didn’t see color, religion or station in life. His generous and welcoming nature.  One of our family’s collective favorite memories was how he greeted the garbage collectors on a hot summer day, cold beer in hand for each of them.   Remembering how he was makes me want to work harder and help realize the dream of hospice.  It is the same spirit of nonjudgmental, unconditional love and support for any man, woman and child facing the distress of a terminal illness that was the meaning of his life.  I know if he could have painted a picture of my life’s work, he would have painted the picture of hospice.