My Grandfather
The fourth of June was my grandfather’s birthday. He passed away two years ago (two days after his birthday) and I am still mourning the loss. There were times in my life that we were close, and others where we were not, but I always knew he was there. For me, it was the first time I had ever lost someone whom I had really known. There is nobody that can fill that void because we knew each other in a way that was unique to us. The intricacies of our own personalities are what formed the relationship.
He was a missionary earlier in life – traveling the world doing good deeds, serving humanity and teaching people about Jesus Christ. But by the time I was born he was the pastor of the large suburban where we lived. My grandmother used to take me to church with her on Sundays so we could hear Grandpa preach. By the time I had declared myself as a member of the Baha’i Faith, he did not have the energy to have serious discussions with me. I would like to think that he was proud of the journey that I had made as I continue to wander down the path of life. His was one of the few opinions that I always took to heart.