Every time I see a poppy I'm reminded of my grandfather. He passed away when I was three. I barely remember him, but what little I do, I do vividly.
I remember sitting on his knee in their kitchen, almost like it was a few years ago, instead of decades.
And every time I think of him I'm reminded of my grandmother's strength. Of how she made the best out of life even after she lost her husband and best friend.
For over three decades she kept going. Enjoying the little things in life. Spending time with her family.
And I hope her strength remains with me tomorrow. I'm getting another, much more invasive test done on my back. So they can maybe figure out what's wrong. Maybe they finally will. Three years and six months later. Exactly.
And all the while I'm worried about the boy. Although we had a great time together tonight, there's still something strange going on. And I don't know what, or what to do about it.