Remembering Greatness

Monday was four years since my grandpa passed away and remembering him has left me feeling, aside from the obvious melancholy, reflective and distracted.

As a little girl my grandpa was my hero. He was a tall man with strong, workman's hands, yet he was a gentle soul. He always made me feel safe and special. When I struggled as a teenager to come into my own he never failed to tell me I was beautiful and I always believed him. He wasn't the kind to say something he didn't mean.; you could never accuse him of being disingenuous (something I hope I inherited from him).

The older I get though the more I realize that they just do not make men like him anymore. Men today do not seem to be made of the same moral fabric. My grandpa was a man of few words but when he spoke you damn well better be listening. He did not waste his time or words with idle chit chat or gossip (clearly those of you who know me well know that I was not blessed to inherit this trait). You often hear people say, "If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything at all", yet few of them take their own advise. My grandpa lived that mantra. I can honestly say I never heard an unkind word come out of his mouth and in turn I believe I'd be hard pressed to find anyone who could say an unkind thing about him.

It's hard to imagine a man of such few words would have such a biting sense of humor, yet he could make me laugh like no other. He was quick witted and quietly charasmatic. He would be straight faced one moment and up dancing along to the Grand Ol' Opry the next. Always looking to get a laugh out of his grandkids, he would play with his dentures at the dinner table. His favorite joke ended with the punchline "Sally ate my candy and I hope it rot her damn teeth out". Something utterly amusing and inappropriate for a 8 year old to hear. His laugh was more infectious than the flu; when he laughed you laughed because like everything about my grandpa his laugh was genuine. You knew it was coming from the pit of his stomach and could read it all over his face.

You could also easily see the love he had for my grams. In a time when most men ruled their homes, he treated my grams as an equal. Their marriage was a partnership. He depended on her not only for meals and child rearing but for financial guidance and business opinions. More than that, her love and support kept him going. Growing up I always smiled at the magnet on their fridge that said "Happiness is being married to your best friend" because for them it was so true. He would sing "Here she is, Miss America" as she brought our dinner to the table. Well into their seventies they would sneak a little hand holding in church. Seeing them kiss at their 50th wedding anniversary is one of the few reasons I still believe in love and marriage. It also helps that there is no doubt in my mind that he loved her just as much the day he died as the day he married her. There is no doubt that she is still loving him the same way.

Sadly, I have lost a lot of grandparents in my life - I often joke that the worst part about having three sets (my mom's parents were divorced) is when they start passing away - but losing my grandpa was by far the hardest. It still is. I don't think there is a day that goes by that I don't think of him or thank God that I was able to properly say good-bye. Yet, there is a comfort in knowing that he is in a better place where he no longer has to suffer. There is the comfort of the memories and knowing that I was blessed to have him as long as I did. There is the hope that somewhere in this world there are still men like my grandpa and that maybe someday I'll be lucky enough to find one half as great.