Grammy, I don’t want you to die.

Good morning, friends,

My grandson Tavin asked me a question recently that I wasn’t expecting.

“Grammy, when are you going to die?”

And a few moments later came the words that landed directly in my chest:

“I don’t want you to die, Grammy.”

I thought I was helping him make death a little less frightening.

Instead, he made me think about being alive.

About five car accidents. A Life Flight. A few hospital rooms. Four bags of someone else’s blood. And all the ordinary moments I came very close to never having.

This week’s PJ Hamilton story is a personal one.

It’s also the first story I’m sending you from the Front Porch, because PJ Hamilton has officially moved to Substack.

If you’d like to keep receiving my Tuesday stories, come join me there. I’d really love to have you.

Read “Grammy, I Don’t Want You to Die” and join me on the Front Porch:

Read the story on Substack

And if you’ve already made the move with me, thank you. Pull up a chair. I think you’re going to like it there.

Until next time…I’ll leave the light on.

PJ Hamilton
Stories about where we’ve been, what it taught us, and where we go from here.