Sonny Days.

In life, we have people that come and go. Some leave small imprints on us, coming and going without much thought on our parts. Some decide to stay for a while, making themselves comfortable in our lives. And some decide to leave imprints as deep as the Red Sea, and when they are gone, we often wonder why they have decided to leave us, either by death or divorce.
Yesterday, I visited one of the few men that I have ever trusted. A man that remains a constant life, never becoming a dependant variable that changes over the period of time. He is my grandfather, someone that has the goodest of all hearts, and who, believe it or not, is called Sonny.
I don't know how he got that name, for the record.
He was one of the few men that I knew in my life, that always was good. He wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, but somehow his charm made for it. He would shake the man who broke his daughter's heart's hand, even though his wife told him not to. He didn't care. He just did it. He was a born driver, in the banana business, always drove his children and his grandchildren around. He always enjoyed soup, particically the one that my grandmother made. Although he enjoyed checking women out, he always loved his wife, Millie. He enjoyed people in general, that Sonny.
Now Sonny lies in a wheelcar, his new Cadilac. Millie sits by his side, feeling him pureed food. Sometimes, he's up. Mostly, he sleeps. Sometimes, I wish he didn't have to suffer, because Sonny was a good man, who doesn't deserve the pain of Dementia.
I don't get how always the good suffer, and the bad always end up with an easy life. It's strange, but thats how life is.