Before you call me every dirty name in the book, you need to know the real reason why I just couldn't watch Alabama's incredible SEC victory this year.

I tried watching the game for a few minutes. I really did, but I just couldn't watch any more. It wasn't Saban or Kiffin or McElwain. It wasn't the players. It wasn't even Verne and Gary.

I couldn't watch the SEC Championship Game because it hurt too much.

He'd been in poor health for many years following a stroke in 2004. He endured a myriad of complications from his exposure to Agent Orange in the Vietnam War, during which he proudly served three voluntary tours of duty with the United States Marine Corps. His health had been a constant struggle for him, but like any brave Marine, PawPaw just toughed it out.

Last year, his congestive heart failure and pneumonia put him in the hospital. I knew that being sick wasn't going to keep PawPaw from watching his beloved Crimson Tide try to win its second straight SEC Championship, so my family and I drove up to Arab to watch the game with him.

My little sis came down from Kentucky, and we all watched the Tide roll as we stood by my PawPaw's hospital bed.

So I tried, y'all, I really did--but as soon as this year's game kicked off, I was just overwhelmed. I remembered watching last year's game with him--and how even though he was so sick, he still clapped and cheered for the Tide.

I remembered how he watched the Tide roll throughout good seasons and bad, how he used to rub his hands together in the moments of tension before a big play or pound his fists into the arms of his battle-worn La-Z-Boy recliner when he thought the play calling was crap.

I remembered how he took the time to explain the game to me when I was a little girl.

I remembered the sound of his wonderful, boisterous laughter after Bama made a big play.

I thought about him and my heart broke all over again. I wanted to watch the SEC Championship Game, but I was a crying mess.

I've learned so much about grief in the past four weeks. I always assumed it was a linear process, that each day would be easier than the last, that I'd somehow be able to make sense of it all. I was wrong.

Grief is messy and strange. It comes in waves, washing over you at the most unexpected of times. I've found some peace over the course of the last month, but it's still so hard.

Maybe I'll spend my day watching highlights of last night's game, and maybe I'll be able to watch a replay on the SEC Network later--but last night, I couldn't do it.

I just miss him too much.

Meg Summers/TSM
Meg Summers/TSM
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