My Immortal (There's Just Too Much That Time Cannot Erase)

Somewhat-long ago, my granddad had succumbed to the rigormortis-like state of muscular dystrophy--Lou Gehrig's Disease, to be precise. Because of my age, my family sheltered me and left me unaware of the fact that he had been fighting it for the past year or so. It wasn't until 4th grade that it had become apparent that something was wrong. He couldn't talk, but tried; and for what he couldn't, he wrote; and eventually, for what he couldn't write, we assumed. My last memory of him, although he was unable to write, speak, or swallow, due to the lack of muscle, was him in the hospital bed doing pull-ups, fighting to win. Unfortunately, there came a time when he faught himself dead-His[My] Last Breath. In the dawn of my youth, I realized that I had to become a man without the man I now want to become.