My Grandfather

My Grandfather died, last week. I wanted to blog, but between preparing the family for the trip to Ohio and my own sadness, I could not. My brother did. He did two blogs about my Grandfather. You can find them here and here.

I always liked my Grandfather's hands. There were big. In the last few years, they always seemed bigger than him, proportionally. I loved that. The were strong hands. Caring hands. Weathered and hard worked hands. When my daughter was a baby, I took this picture.

Grandpa always had a good joke to share. Nevermind that you've probably heard that very same joke the last time you visited, or hec, maybe even an hour ago. Most people didn't mind that, though. It added to Grandpa's charm, I think.

I will never forget the first time he held my son. I think the picture speaks for itself.


Such awe.



He was always afraid that we would forget him. That his great-grandkids wouldn't remember him, from visit to visit. I was always reassuring him that this couldn't be further from the truth. Even now, my son and daughter still have him in their prayers. They still look at his picture, and talk about "pa-pa." I don't think that will change.

I love my Grandpa. I am so fortunate for the realtionship the I (and my family) shared with him.

If you want to get to know who he was ... go to my brother's links post...