It seems so appropriate for this post to follow the last...since my Grampa would likely have passed out after watching that clip. He would have laughed until he wept.
It would have been awesome to watch, better than the clip itself.
He left us five years ago today. Gramma sat at his side through the night, quietly pleading for him to stay. If the sheer might of her will could have carried him until the morning, it would have. But, when she slipped out to use the bathroom in the early hours of April 11th, he spared her the pain of his last breath, and went to heaven.
He was a remarkable man...salt of the earth...loving husband, devoted father and cherished Grampa.
This is the message my Mom, his eldest living daughter, sent to the family a short while ago:
Five years ago today Dad( Grampa) left and still I miss him and often see or hear something he would appreciate. We are so blessed to have had a really honourable man as our dad. Bless you Dad.
Grampa, you are loved and missed, more than you could know.
3 comments:
Many years ago we all went on holiday with grandma and grandpa to see the Dakota's. At some point in the trip we pulled of to visit with a supposed herd of American buffalo. After viewing said herd of 6 buffalo, grandpa, dad and myself went to view some wolves in a pen. I was maybe 15 years old? As we came up to the fence that housed said wild wolves, I could not help but wonder how said wild wolves were kept in the pen with the fence only 4 foot tall. I got my answer once I reached the wooden fence and flopped my arms on top of said fence and rolled my hands under the back, unseen side of said friggin fence. And grabbed hold of the bare electrified wire keeping said wild friggin wolves in said friggin fence. The shock removed me from my shoes and socks and elicited a loud involuntary "fuck" from my lips. I was sure either dad or grampa were going to have my ass, and turned to see the 2 of them holding each other up they were both laughing so hard. His quiet chortle still brings a smile to my face. We miss you grampa.
I miss him stealing my cigarette right from my puckered lips when he wasn't supposed to be smoking.
And then making me the lookout for Gramma...
His belly was as finely tuned as the atomic clock. Regardless of his lattitude and longtitude, within a day or so, he zoned in on 1:00 pm (13:00 to the civilized world) as lunchtime.
On the road we would stop in some town, or road stop, sometime close enough to lunch, be it noon, or 12:15 or so, and everyone would eat. Except Grampa.
He would politely decline any and all offers, or, at best, nibble on a crumb or a crust.
The family, sated, would remount our trusty vehicle and head on out. Generally I drove after lunch, reason for that unknown, and at precisely 12:55 Grampa's foot would begin to dance gently on the rubber mat. His fingers drummed, slowly at first, then faster with each passing minute. By 13:00 the sound was penetrating and exceedingly annoying.
I had learned to hold my peace and took out whatever impatience I had chosen on the accelerator. At around 80 mph, 40 miles or more from the nearest eatery, and the replete, drowsy family passing gas quietly or not, grampa would lean over to me and say gently "Pietertje, isn't it about lunchtime?" His alarm had finally rung and it was OK to be hungry.
The subsequent search for food tested familial relations.
It was a daily event that wore down my molars to stumps.
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