Here is what I'll share about my Papaw, Clyde Rayburn Sallust, who died when I was 13.

I grew up in a small town, which was a kid type bike ride away from where two of my favorite  people in the world lived, my Mamaw & Papaw.  I always felt loved by Papaw, but spent more time with Mamaw.  My Papaw and I have birthdays just two days apart.  Often, Mamaw & Papaw would come over to our house and we would celebrate mine & Papaw's birthdays together, which was very special to share that connection with him.

At 12 I had decided I didn't really like him very much because he was gruff with people sometimes, actually, a lot of times.  After his first heart attack, I felt horrible that I didn't like my Papaw who I loved and felt loved by so much.  So, I sought out spending time with him and getting to know him.  I wanted to like him.  And, that is what I did, riding my bike across town to visit and do odd tasks with Papaw, asking him questions about his life and low and behold, I learned to like him too.  

Papaw was an eclectic guy, couldn't sit still and had a lot of projects going on.  He grew pole beans once and I vividly remember climbing  a ladder to pick them.  That made me feel special.  I knew he wanted me there with him.  I kept a sweet little lie from him after he unveiled a grown cherry tomato plant he planted just for me as I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't like cherry tomatoes.  He planted that cherry tomato plant just for me.  

I remember sitting on his lap, his largish solid belly, whiffs of his cologne and feeling so safe. It melted my granddaughter being when I read a little note he had written to Mamaw and myself entitled, "Weezie (Louise) & Pudd," and from that point forward I was his Pudd.  One year after his first heart attack came his second one with a sudden vengeance and at age 72 he died.  He died in the arms of my Mom and one of my older brothers, Mark.  My grief over the following two years was so deep, so serious, so sad, in the midst of beginning my teen years feeling insecure and shy, developing friendships, and taking part in my favorite activities, sports.

I put everything into my sports dreams at that age.  That energy, along with an amazing Mom, four older siblings and one of my favorite coaches at the time,

I was listened to, accepted and loved in the midst of my grief.  My 13-year-old self is many years older now, and yet everything Papaw gave me lives on.  Papaw made me feel loved, special and I knew he wanted to spend time with me, every single time. He always liked me.  I am grateful I got to spend time with him to learn to like him as much as I loved him too.

What is one word I would use to describe BP....More than one word....;)....CARING and ACCEPTING.

If I have to pick one:  CARING