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Seven years ago today, my grandfather died of a disease. Parkinsons disease. Now, to those of you that don't know what parkinsons is or what it does, it is a disease that attacks a persons nervous system. It pretty much destroys a persons movements and speech. I knew my grandfather after the disease had already taken affect. But, even though I didn't truly get to know him, he was an incredibly special man and he majorly affected my family.

My dad was addopted by my lovely grandparents and it was an absolute blessing. I love my grandma more than anything. When my dad was in his early twenties, he met his real mom. But that will never truly be his real mom. She may have given him life, but my grandma is the one that took care of him. My grandma is such a weird person to describe. And she definitely wasn't a majorly nurturing mother. She was abused physically and mentally by her father, which turned her slightly cold. My grandfather, on the other hand, was a loving, caring, and gentle man. He had so much patients and kindness in his heart.

I was eleven when my grandfather died. For all of my life, I knew he was sick. His hands shook violently and, by the time I was eight or nine, he couldn't hardly walk. He always needed help and it broke my heart. I remember that I was having problems with my math homework one day. I won't ever forget this. My grandfather was a math professor at a college when he was younger. With Parkinsons disease, the brain functions completely. So he was a very smart man, even if he couldn't show it. So, theres this eight or nine little Linny, sitting at the table complaining about homework. My grandpa made his way over to me, sat down, and tried helping. But, with the slur in his voice and the shakiness, I couldn't understand him. I knew he felt so helpless, even though I was young. I would listen as hard as I could, but I just couldn't figure it out. I started nodding along, pretending like I knew exactly what he was saying so that I didn't have to hurt his feelings. And, he knew. But he smiled and placed his shaking hand on mine and whispered that he loved me.

I remember that when he died, I was happy for him. I was awfully sad that he was gone, but I knew that he would be so much happier. I knew that it would be okay, that he didn't have to suffer with the disease. My grandpa donated his brain to Parkinsons research. I always thought it was so noble of him. After years and years of him fighting such a tough battle, he lost. But he wanted to help and maybe he could have helped someone else.

My grandpa was a wonderful man. A truly amazing man that deserved nothing but the best. And sadly, a disease took over and put him through hell. But he fought, not only for him but for my grandma as well. He was the kindest, most loving, and truly a wonderful man. I had to say goodbye to him seven years ago, but I believe he is somewhere beautiful, where he can be happy and watch over my grandma with a loving heart.