01/01/2021
It’s been nearly two years since Grandpa died.
I miss him. We all miss him.
And I never got to tell Grandpa goodbye.
I never got to tell Grandpa about the love of my life, he won’t be at our wedding tomorrow, and he won’t get to meet, hold, and love our children. But there are so many things Grandpa and I did get to do together, and it is for those that I will be forever grateful.
Although I was only alive for 19 of his 89 years of life, and although I don’t even remember all 19, those precious years I do remember are a testament to the hard working, honest, ornery, kind-hearted, faithful, intelligent, and loving man he was.
Gone are the days when my family and I would visit Grandpa and Grandma and join him for his second, sometimes even third, serving of ice cream. Grandpa never let anything, not even his diabetes, get between him and his favorite snack. Grandpa isn’t here anymore to bid three or four points in five point pitch when everyone knew he didn’t have the Ace or King in his trump suite. He’s no longer there in the kitchen with Grandma wearing his apron and making bacon the morning after a sleepover. He can’t be found by the pond fishing, and he no longer calls us “Wendy” or “Peanuts”. He doesn’t ask if we’ve milked the cows yet today. We won’t get to see him laugh so hard he turns red in the face and his whole body shakes, or see him cry at a touching story or movie. He’s not here to tease us, to kiss Grandma, or to say words that shocked me as a child. He no longer tells the stories of the good ol’ days and you won’t find him talking about today’s politics. He won’t be “piddling” out in the garage or working in his office. We no longer receive stacks of copied articles, jokes, and pictures, and there’s no longer someone to offer us pop every time we come over. No one asks us to call once we’ve made it home safely, and he isn’t there watching and waiting as we leave his house. There isn’t anyone to read the newspaper with or to play gin. I don’t hear him say “what’s the name of this game?” when he’s beating me in cards, or “dad burn it!” when he’s frustrated by something.
Grandpa, with all of his orneriness and love, is no longer here with us...