On September 14, 2010 my family suffered a great loss. My grandfather passed away after an extended illness. He will be greatly missed and although this past week has been hard - the hardest times are yet to come. On behalf of my family I want to extend gratitude to all who sent condolences, thoughts and prayers as we go through this difficult time. The following post was a piece I wrote in tribute to the man that not only helped to fuel my imagination, but helped shape me into the person I am today.
The people you love are never really gone. Close your eyes and you can see them - take your pick on the when and the where. That’s the beauty of a memory.
In my mind grandpa can still chase cattle, he can still drive a tractor (in road gear, because that’s the only speed he ever used) and he slowly pushes the yellow porch swing with his bare foot and one hand on the chain.
I’ve been blessed. Some people I know have never met their grandfather, and I have been privileged to know my for almost 30 years. I thought he was invincible.
Twenty-nine years of walking on water, well, that will wear anybody out.
I asked Dad once when I was just starting to work on the farm, “who taught you how to drive a tractor?”
“Grandpa Glenn taught me everything,” dad answered. “That’s what grandpa’s do.”
Well, grandpa may not have taught me how to drive a tractor, but he did fix my mistakes. He fixed the oil line I blew right in the middle of the wheat stubble. I was afraid I’d get in trouble, not because of the oil, but because I was turning the wrong direction.
Grandpa told me, “don’t worry about the turn, there’s enough oil here your dad won’t even notice.”
Grandpa also got me out of hot water the first time dad turned me loose on a disk. I was probably 13, and I forgot to lift over the terraces. Grandpa just stopped me, climbed in with me, and smoothed them out. I told him I was going to get into trouble. “Na, he won’t even notice.”
What most people noticed about grandpa was his inability to meet a stranger. It didn’t matter where we were, he had to know everything. Every person he met sitting outside the commercial building at the fair, every person he greeted in church and every nurse that took care of him at the end. He wanted to know their life story, and he would give them a version of his. You just never knew which version you were going to get. Grandpa had a way of making the most far-fetched fiction sound believable. It was the gift of gab he has passed on to some of us. In my eyes each story he told was reality and sometimes that got me into trouble. More than once a handwritten note from school made it home in my backpack. Grandma would get after him and he would just laugh.
He was fueling an imagination in me, that only he could relate to.
In my mind grandpa can still chase cattle, he can still drive a tractor (in road gear, because that’s the only speed he ever used) and he slowly pushes the yellow porch swing with his bare foot and one hand on the chain.
I’ve been blessed. Some people I know have never met their grandfather, and I have been privileged to know my for almost 30 years. I thought he was invincible.
Twenty-nine years of walking on water, well, that will wear anybody out.
I asked Dad once when I was just starting to work on the farm, “who taught you how to drive a tractor?”
“Grandpa Glenn taught me everything,” dad answered. “That’s what grandpa’s do.”
Well, grandpa may not have taught me how to drive a tractor, but he did fix my mistakes. He fixed the oil line I blew right in the middle of the wheat stubble. I was afraid I’d get in trouble, not because of the oil, but because I was turning the wrong direction.
Grandpa told me, “don’t worry about the turn, there’s enough oil here your dad won’t even notice.”
Grandpa also got me out of hot water the first time dad turned me loose on a disk. I was probably 13, and I forgot to lift over the terraces. Grandpa just stopped me, climbed in with me, and smoothed them out. I told him I was going to get into trouble. “Na, he won’t even notice.”
What most people noticed about grandpa was his inability to meet a stranger. It didn’t matter where we were, he had to know everything. Every person he met sitting outside the commercial building at the fair, every person he greeted in church and every nurse that took care of him at the end. He wanted to know their life story, and he would give them a version of his. You just never knew which version you were going to get. Grandpa had a way of making the most far-fetched fiction sound believable. It was the gift of gab he has passed on to some of us. In my eyes each story he told was reality and sometimes that got me into trouble. More than once a handwritten note from school made it home in my backpack. Grandma would get after him and he would just laugh.
He was fueling an imagination in me, that only he could relate to.
Grandpa and I shared a special bond, you’ll develop that with a partner in crime so to speak. Grandpa had a special bond with all five of us. We all have at least one thing that grandpa taught us, even if was to torment our dad or mom. Because that’s the other thing that grandpa’s do - spoil us.
Grandpa couldn’t say no, and each one of us knew it.
Grandpa has touched several lives, some we may never know about. We take all the things he’s taught us, and like the memories made they will never go away. Yes, today is sad, but close your eyes and who do you see and where do you see him? I can bet he’s either telling a story or making you laugh.
God needs good people every day. God needs him now, more than we do - although that is hard accept we have to. We were blessed with extra time and we’ve made the best of it. It’s made us a better family, taught us to be stronger, taught us to lean on each other - he doesn’t have to say a word and he’s giving us lesson’s that we’ll keep long after he’s gone.
He was asked once about life and death, and asked if he wanted to live to see certain events or milestones.
He simply said, “I’ll see them, I may not be there, but I’ll see them.”
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