🧠 What My Grandad Forgot—and What I Won’t
Grandad Ben could crack a watermelon over his knee and a story wide open with just a grin. Alzheimer’s stole his punchlines—but not his presence. This post is my promise to remember, to keep the forge lit, and to roar loud enough that no one forgets him again.
🧠 Why I Wrote My Memoir Before It Was Too Late
This memoir wasn’t written for publishers. It was written to fight the fade. For my grandsons. For the town that’s no longer on the map. For the memories that crackle like porch steps and Gorilla laughter. If you’ve ever felt something slipping, this is why I picked up a pen.