Family, food, football, and f'ing cranberry sauce​

“Pass the fucking cranberry sauce,” ​screamed my late grandfather to my mother, his daughter.​ It was Thanksgiving 2016, and at 91 years old, ​Grampaw (that's how he liked to spell it) was losing it, both mentally and physically. I laughed​. So did the rest of the family sitting at the rectangular dinning room table. ​Hearing your grandfather drop an f-bomb for the very first time? C'mon, that's a little hysterical. But then, out of the corner of my left eye, I saw a look of disappointment and sadness painted across my mother's face. My smirk and smile quickly dissolved. I didn't know then, but this would be the very last holiday I'd ever get to spend with my grandfather. He died on Tuesday,

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