My step-cousin had a wedding three weeks ago. They’re anti-maskers. My granny went even though she cares for my grandpa at home who has dementia.

Everyone got sick afterwards, he tested positive on Friday, and he passed away this morning.

As a member of @TheIronworkers Local 29 we used to say my grandpa built Portland.

We know for sure he helped with the convention center and I think of him whenever I see it, but my dad says you can’t throw a rock in Portland and not hit something my grandpa helped build.

He’s had dementia, a few strokes, and heart surgery, but what finally did him in was a combo of COVID and the selfishness of some I used to call family.

This week felt like a long panic attack but with anger. We knew we’d lose him, but him being taken feels so much worse.

I loved my grandpa a lot.

I loved waking up early at his house to find my dad already a half-cup of coffee deep in conversation about nothing in particular with him.

I loved hearing about how he served during Vietnam (emphasis on “during”....he was in Germany)

I love how I have his eyes, how every pregnant cousin had his belly, and how we will never forget him for a million reasons but especially because he left his legacy in every building and bridge he helped build across the Pacific Northwest.

He was also the selfie king.