Last week marked the 20th anniversary of my Pop Pop's death.
It was strange because when he died, I was 9, but yet I can still remember every detail of the day we found out he went home to God.
My Pop Pop, John E. Zubek, was an amazing man to me.
He was short in stature, but had a big heart.
He was my buddy, and one who I wished I had more time with before I had to say my final farewell.
Growing up, we were close. He would take me for walks down Abbott Street in Lansford, where I would stop numerous times to play with a number of neighboring dogs.