I’ve been thinking about my Papa Lindbergh who died on Thursday. I loved him so much, but I had an inability to talk to him for more than five minutes without my eyes welling up. Something about him made me feel overwhelmingly sad.
He was an extremely smart, extremely proud man. He travelled around the world fixing the engines of ships. He was certain he had the smartest, most wonderful children and he never tired of bragging about them to anyone within earshot.
He also had insecurities about his stutter, suffered from alcoholism, and seemed to live in the past more than the present.
It was in reconciling these two different sides of him, the mixture of loving him and feeling so sorry for him, that caused me to lose control of my emotions.
I hope wherever he is now he is loved, he is at peace, and he is so very happy.
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