Ten years ago this morning, my grandpa died. He was 92. A lot has changed in ten years. I was a much different person when he was alive. I was still in 4th grade. I hadn't solidified my plans for my life; now, I'm halfway to applying for vet school. I hadn't been to Italy yet, which was a huge turning point in my travels. I hadn't taken any German yet, and now I want to become fluent. I hadn't started dating yet.
I didn't have a reason for my tattoo yet.
Interesting how life can change in ten years. One thing hasn't changed, though. I still wish he were still here. I still miss him. And I wonder if he'd be proud of me now. I really hope so.
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