When my daughter told me that she was pregnant, I was very quick to tell her to not depend on me to baby sit and my how I have eaten those words over and over. The morning he was born and I first saw him that little guy grabbed my heart with both little hands and each day for 22 years and 10 day he tightened that grip ever so much harder. As he grew I learned to play with bugs, ride 4 wheelers (taught him to ride a 3 wheeler), always had a contest going to see who could catch the first and most fish, at the deer camp we were always wading in the cold, clear creek, loving camping out. We were, as everyone said two peas in a pod. We were best buddies, Maw and Bubba. He was just as much at home with Pop and me as he was with his parents. He was always a trooper, always smiling, never complaining even when he was so sick. He never questioned why he had this dreadful disease called Cystic Fibrosis, just took one day at a time. He loved everyone and wanted nothing but love in return. He would go out of his way to help anyone at anytime and just not imagine people being mean. There have been times when he was so sick and having trouble breathing but did not hesitate to wait on someone who used him to wait on them. He spent the last 4 months of his life in the hospital on a vent, with a trach and with a feeding tube. He was unable to talk, eat or drink, but he never complained. He just wanted to get well so he could come home and be with his family and friends, but it was not to be. He did get to be at home for four days before the angels came for him. When he died, my world died, but my consolation is knowing that he will never be poked on, prodded on, cut on, and that he will never have to struggle to breathe. He was laid to rest beside his Pop and I can only imagine the happy times the two of them are enjoying with their Lord and Savior. I selfishly cry for myself, because I would never want him to have to relive the painful life he had here on earth