I was all set to write about something meaningless and follow it up with chapter six of Sex Offenders, but then I got a call from my mother that her father passed away from complications stemming from pnuemonia. Grandpa Paul was 94 years old.
So that's two grandparents in two weeks, crazy huh? I guess the only positive (and it's barely that) is that I don't have any more living grandparents to keep the streak going. I was closer to Paul than my dad's mother, but that isn't saying a whole lot. I'd see him at least once a year for pretty much my whole life... usually when he was visiting my mom. And unlike my grandmother, he did get to meet Paris and I think he even secretly had a crush on Xochil. He was an energetic, talkative Puerto Rican who stood barely 62 inches tall.
Rest in peace Grandpa.
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