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Grandpas
05-13-2008 · 85 Comments
Today I want to hear from you guys. My head hurts and my day has been frustrating. Sometimes just getting a chance to listen to you guys is therapeutic.
So here’s the topic: Grandpas.
This is my Grandpa.
His name is Chester.
I have not yet been able to separate the words Grandpa and Grandma. I often find myself saying, “We’re going to Grandpa and Grandma’s house.” - even though my Grandma died of Alzheimer’s over 7 years ago. They have always been a unit; I miss her and I miss “them”; I’m so glad I still have Grandpa.
He’s 92 and when I go to his house the memories flood in.
Tell me about your Grandpa. Tell me a story or about a moment you’ll never forget. What makes your Grandpa amazing?
I’ll just sit here and listen.
And maybe, if your day has been as difficult as mine, you can take a seat beside me beneath this tree. Imagine the breeze, hear the wood creak as you swing to and fro, and just let go of the day, embracing the memories of others as the day’s healing balm.
I am beyond wanting to swing in the breeze… that is my life right now. Tough. We’ll swing together and remember the good ole days…
Both of my grandpas died many years ago but I really only felt close to one. I remember playing chrokinole together and helping him with chores in the barn. I used to peek in on him in his workshop too. When my sister and I would have sleepovers, we’d get to stay up late and watch Dallas. LOL!
PS. That is a breathtaking photo of your grandpa!
Sadly, I never knew either of my grandfathers. They both died in their mid-40s. My parents were both 15 when their fathers died.
Sorry, can’t help with the mood today, but I’ll pray you feel better. :-)
Oh, and I love the pic of your grandpa.
My paternal grandfather was the kindest man I have ever met. Just thinking about him makes me smile. When I think of my grandpa the thing I remember most are his hands. The plams of his hands were calloused and rough from a lifetime of hard work but the tops were soft and thin, like tissue paper.
My dad’s dad was a great man. He was a quiet man, and a loving man.
One of my favorite memories of him was when I was very small, he would pull me up on his lap and say
Eye winker (lightly touching my right eye)
Eye blinker (lightly touching my left eye)
Nose smeller (pointer finger on the nose)
Lip smacker (touching the lips)
Chin chopper (tickle the chin/neck)
Then he would tickle me. That was the only time I remember him holding me close.
He always smelled good too.
Is that really your grandpa? What an awesome photo. He makes me smile just looking at it.
Both of my Grandfathers died within 8 months of each other back when I was about 12. They were as different as night and day, different lifestyles, personalities and everything else.
I was the first grandchild and only grand daughter on their side and he hated what they named me so for the first 6 months of my life he refused to call me by name… preferring to call me “Baby” instead! LOL.
My other Grandfather was very, very quiet. Would sit next to you on the couch and reach over to tickle your foot and look away quickly, feigning innocence. It was his way of teasing us.
Just saw your post - did not want to leave a comment to detract from the tone.
My Dad’s Dad dies when I was two - I never knew him - he lived across the country.
My Mom’s Dad was her stepdad - her biological father she never knew, as her Mom got pregnant young.
My Papa (her Dad) was a gruff, racist and ornery bugger. He also lived across the country, so I did not really know him.
My Dad and stepdad are full of flaws too.
Thanks be to Jesus for a Heavenly Father who heals all.
That photo of your Grandpa is breathtaking.
As is the one of the swing.
xoxo
My paternal Grandfather was a great man. He married my Grandma when he was 50 and she was 20! That’s no typo sister, 20. This is back in the 40’s so imagine how insane that was. He met her in a diner, she a waitress, he a loyal customer. His first wife died of cancer and he had raised all five of their children. My Grandmother was the same age as “Poppa’s” youngest daughter.
They raised three children and were married for nearly 50 years. He was a diviner…could find water in the ground by just looking at the topography. He worked all of his life in a lime quarry as a miner, hard labor all of his life.
He died at 92 on a hot summer day. He had just come in from outside, laid on the couch and went to sleep.
My fondest memory of him is sitting on the footstool at his feet listening to his stories. He’d laugh and we’d laugh not sure waht he was laughing about, but we’d laugh.
I’m his full name sake and he was always super proud of me having “his” whole name.
My grandpa had the best treehouse ever. He built it for his youngest son and there it sat waiting for all the grandkids. There was a ladder to climb up to it and I remember as a young child being so scared to climb it. It was a rope ladder. So, needless to say it swung back and forth and just never would stay still. He would see me struggle at the bottom of that thing and talk myself up to climbing it and then see me stop after about 3 steps and he would come over and say that he too never liked that ladder….and then boost me up on his shoulders and I would climb right in.
I remember visiting my Mom’s Dad in the respite home a few days before he passed. He was 93. I was about 26 weeks pregnant with my first. I sat beside him on the bed and placed his hand on my tummy. When Hunter kicke his hand - hard, I glanced up at my Grandpa to see if he had felt it. He had. He stared at me with blue eyes, piercing mine. He “met” my son, but never was Hunter so lucky to meet him.
Love your pictures.
Awww, so sorry that you had a rough day. Have a little chocolate while you’re swinging, okay?
I don’t really have any Grandpa memories to speak of…gotta love family politics and issues dontcha? But hey, the view from the swing is beautiful and you can have a lovely respite there before going back to face the insanity.
Feel better soonest!
Well, MY grandpa is amazing. He is the most humble, sweet, kind, caring man! He’s just precious! He would give you the shirt off of his back. He’s simply amazing, and I adore him.
My hubby’s grandfather may not make it through the night. I am sad, but he will be in Heaven, and that makes me happy for him.
I’m praying for you, Heather.
My grandpa’s name is Chester, too.
What a beautiful photo of your Grandpa. My paternal Grandpa was a cowboy and a poultry rancher. He worked hard his entire life and spent the last 20 years of his life on oxygen, with emphysema. He couldn’t run and play with us, but he used to put us in his lap and talk to us. He would take out his false teeth and snap them at us, scattering us to all corners of the house, laughing at the spectacle. We loved to play Parcheesi on a beautiful homemade board that he made himself. And he would always, always share his Wrigley’s Spearmint gum with us, but only half a stick. He died when I was 12. He was a quiet man, but a powerful presence in our family. Thanks for jogging my memory…I needed to remember him this week as my family struggles to stay grounded in the middle of some very uncertain circumstances.
Great photo of your grandpa!!
I have not had the pleasure to meet my grandpas. My mothers father was killed when she was 9 years old. My father’s dad was killed when my dad was 9 months old.
So I will just sit under the tree with ya and listen, what a wonderful idea!
Oh Heather - just the thought brings cherished memories and teary eyes. I was blessed with 2 grandpas and a great papa. One is still living in Texas and I don’t get to visit with him nearly enough. Dinner on the stove door is one special thought…Rawhide, Gunsmoke, M&Ms, bicycles, fishing….much love.
My maternal grandpa passed away when I was about 13 yrs old. We were migrant workers, working in Michigan when he suffered a stroke. I’m a first-generation Mexican-American, which means all the adults spoke Spanish, and none spoke English. I spent weeks in the hospital translating for the doctor and the family. I was there every step of the way until he was discharged, aware of everything that was going on. I distinctly remember my mother’s request to have the doctor aspirate some of the phlegm that had clouded his lungs.
It’s been 12 yrs now, but the image of him is still fresh in my mind. I dream of him A LOT when I’m pregnant. Weird, I know. It kinda makes me feel like he’s watching over me and my unborn baby. This past August my grandma (his wife) passed away as well. This past pregnancy was riddled with dreams of both of them. He’d be standing in the doorway of their home looking down at my kids playing and smile. Grandma would be on her rocker in the living room laughing her contagious and hearty laugh. I felt honored, as if they had decided I was worthy enough for them to make an appearance in my dreams. And I felt loved. Even though that side of the family has above 100 grandchildren, I feel that I was somehow set apart and they thought of me fondly. I wasn’t super close to them, but I do miss them. I valued their opinion and input in matters.
Now I only have my dreams, and secretly I hope they are reserving a spot for me in heaven… a spot that is close to them so I can hear grandpa’s booming voice, and gradma’s hearty laugh.
My grandfather, Dee, passed away on Easter. He was 93 and had cancer. He died very peacefully in his sleep.
One of my favorite memories of him was at his 90th birthday my then 14 month old daughter broke his bottle of moonshine on the floor and it ate.through.the.floor in about 5 seconds. He laughed and laughed and laughed hysterically while people scrambled around to clean it up and then he said: See what it does to the floor, that’s why I’m 90 and still swimming every day. That stuff kills every germ possible and just pickles my insides so I keep on going :-)
It was a priceless moment from an amazingly beautiful man.
That picture up there is superb.
My Granny, other side of the family, is going to pass soon too so this is a very touching post and I’ve done a lot of writing in recent months about family and grandparents.
Many blessings to you.
Rachel
These photos are gorgeous. My grandparents died when I was young and I never knew one of them :( Unfortunately, my kid’s one grandpa died last year and life definitely seems empty without him :(
http://bahrageous.blogspot.com/2008/05/best-man.html
I had to go and do a whole post. Thanks, Heather.
I remember my Grandpa Leonard, my Mom’s dad, working at Pemaco, coming home from kindergarten and taking him lunch. I remember him coming home from work, sitting in his chair and calling us to him. He would turn on the scanner open the drawer and give us each a piece of red licorice. He passed in 1986 from cancer and I still miss him.
My Grandpa Dean I only have one really fond memory of. A few years before he passed he spent Christmas with us. He slept in the living room and convinced us that he would not let Santa in. We were terrified of him, and believed him of course. Christmas morning we came out to four new bikes (one for my brother, myself, and my parents), and a Grandpa with a big grin. He was trying to keep us out of the living room so my parents could take care of things. I have other memories of him, and while they are precious they are not happy.
I wish I had a photo of them like the one you have of your Grandpa.
P.S. you made me cry.
My maternal grandpa, my OPA, is amazing. When I was younger, he used to hold a soccer game in his backyard for the neighborhood kids every Friday night. And he played! He.absolutely.loves.soccer.
(My.space.bar.just.quit.working.)
Every (there we go!) year the school I grew up in holds a “Grandparents Day”. All the grandparents would come in their slacks and loafers and sweaters. Mine would come in a soccer.jersey.(darnspacebar)
.and.cargo.pants.Everyone.thought.he
was.the.coolest.grandpa.ever.
I.just.got.to.go.spend.his.77th.birthday
with.him
(The .first.couple.pictures.of.this.post)
He’s an amazing Opa with a huge heart for kids and still has neighborhood kids over for dinner. He lives in a VERY small community and a lot of the kids are low income.
There you go! I love my Opa! (and I love when my spacebar is on the fritz)
I have one Papa who is still with us, and one Papa who died almost 22 years ago.
My Papa who is still here always says, “Boy you’re getting cute Rhiannon, almost as cute as me.” And, he’s right. Nothing is as cute as he is. He has the best sense of humor and he’s such an example to me in his faith, and in his marriage of 59 years to my Tutu, and just in everything. He’s one of my favorite people.
My other Papa is probably very happy in heaven right now, as my Grandma just went to be with him two months ago. We miss her very very much. He died when I was 7, so I am SO surprised that I have such vivid memories of him. One thing that he always said to me was, “That’s my girl. That’s my girl.” And, you know what? Sometimes I can hear him saying that to me. When I finally graduated from college, and the President of my university handed me that diploma? I heard him say it.
:) Thank you for letting me tell you about my Papas :) They are/were fantastic men.
Oh Heather. What a gorgeous picture of your grandpa. And as for those swings…I’m so in! Is there sweet tea involved? You live in Texas, so I’m asssuming there will be iced tea, right? :)
My Mom’s dad died when my mom was 12. I’ve heard loads about him and I know he would have taken great delight in his grandkids and great-grandkids and (just this past year) great-great-grandkids.
My Dad’s dad, Pops, was an amazing man. I didn’t grow up in this area, because I’m an Army brat. But whenever we visited, he made sure to pack all those other visits into one. He let my Nana spoil us rotten only ever saying, “oh Peggy.” He could build ANYTHING with his hands. He built me my first wardrobe and both of my other cousins their first baby beds. He built us all Aggravation boards and those marble racing tracks. When I was in HS I asked for a table for my room. I still have that and my son uses it now. It’s definitely a prized possession.
Pops gave the best hugs. He hugged you until you KNEW *that* was how to truly give a hug. HARD AND LONG. His hands were always rough because of his extensive gardening and wood working. He had the whitest hair in the world…and it used to scare other kids. I loved that white hair. It meant POPS to me. :)
He passed away in 1996 and I’ve missed him every single day since then. I would love to have him back for 20 minutes to give him a dozen hugs, have him give me whisker burns, and to meet his only Great-Grandson. THey would have been best friends, I know!
And now that I’m crying and have written a novel in the comments section, I’m going to shush now. :)
Both of my grandpas are gone, but I was close to both of them and they left their mark on me in so many ways.
And I’m with you on the frustrating day. I actually sat in the hammock for 15 minutes that I didn’t really have available. It helped, but not enough. Hope tomorrow is better.
My mom’s dad was a preacher, and i never saw him preach that he didn’t cry, which amazed me as a kid. i remember him coming to our house and always playing games with us, like hide the pennies all over the living room and we had to find them without touching or moving anything. he’d stand his hair on end, and go on all 4’s around the living room pretending to growl at us, which still gives me a bit of a shiver. stories of his trips all over the world, and people he met. his hands that were so small for a man, and curled more and more inward as he got older. the marble track in his living room, and rolling loads of marbles down the carpeted stairs and never hearing a word of ‘be quiet’. he died when i was about 10, suddenly, from some unknown tropical disease that they couldn’t get under control. my memories of grandma pretty much start then, she was always in the background letting him be the people person. i miss them both.
I love your pic of the swings. And the one of your Grampa.
Mine is my Gramps or Pa. He is 84 and is one of the most impeccable people I’ve ever met. He’s honest and trustworthy, hardworking and respectful, generous and loving. I would love to be exactly like him one day, though I won’t be. But I married someone like him and that’s enough for me.
My grandpa always seemed so big and strong. When I graduated from college I moved to the same city he lived in and one day after work my grandma called me and told me they needed me at the hospital. My grandpa had a heart attack. I sat with my grandmother at the hospital as often as my work schedule allowed over the next several weeks, through many surgeries, bypasses, tests, etc. He came through it all, but now he just seems so much frailer to me. He’s healthy, not frail or brittle… but the fragility of life in general struck me at that moment and whenever I see him I always want to make sure I hug him a little tighter, just so he knows I love him.
I miss my grandfathers. One died when I was 8-years-old. He used to let me ride on the tractors in the backyard. My other grandfather died when I was older. I remember him “working” in his garage. I remember him at the breakfast table eating biscuits and gravy. Thanks for the swing…angie
My Grampa, whom I called Papa, died almost 30 years ago. But I still remember the smell of his pipe and how he used to answer the phone when I called him, which was “Hullo Hullo Hullo!!” and I also remember he made *the* best dutch blueberry pie, ever. My Nana died when I was 4 so I really have no memory of her or them as a couple. But Papa was special as he was the only grandparent I had living. Thanks for posting the topic and nudging me into remembering. :D
Great photo too by the way.
i blogged it over here:
http://mommymae.wordpress.com/2008/05/13/grandpa-fred/
thinking about these great men who influenced me in my youth made me miss them and appreciate them so much more. thank you.
I’m reading, I’m reading…keep going.
It is 11:00 and I’m just bawling and giggling and you have lightened my day.
Oh, the relationships.
Oh, the joy.
Thank you so much for sharing. You can’t imagine how it has lifted me.
My maternal grandfather passed away about 20 years ago, and I still quote him all the time. When he was 14 he left Russia all by himself and came to the US posing as another man’s son. He changed his name upon arriving at Ellis Island, taking on the name of the man’s son, and kept that name his entire life. He knew that he had to learn a trade as soon as he came to NY because as a Jewish immigrant with little education, nothing much was open to him. So he apprenticed to an upholsterer and that became his lifetime career. He owned 3 stores in the NY area and was financially successful.
My grandfather never lost his thick Yiddish accent. He sounded a lot like those Billy Crystal characters of old men. But he was hilariously funny and so loving and brave. My mother was his only child, and when she was 5 my grandmother walked out on them, moved a couple of blocks away with another man, and pretended she didn’t know who they were if she passed them on the street. My grandfather and my great aunt, my grandmother’s little sister, raised my mother. After a few years my grandmother came ‘home’ and my grandfather took her back. He loved her to his dying day, despite her indescretions. This was in the 1920’s, so you can imagine the shame. My grandmother was mentally ill (now it would be diagnosed bipolar disease) and my grandfather stuck my her despite the fact that she was horribly difficult and could be very ugly and mean.
All the time he continued having a positive outlook, with plenty of friends and admirers. He was also VERY involved with the early Communist party and was a big believer in socialism his entire life. He was involved with many infamous communists, and was one of the featured old commenters in the movie Reds, with Warren Beaty. He was a really great man.
My paternal great-grandparents were also a unit. They were rarely apart. Bill got older and his body wore out. Margaret took care of him as long as she possibly could, but eventually she contracted pneumonia and Bill had to move to a nursing home. Margaret passed away in her sleep and their daughter agonized over how to tell Bill. She warned the nursing home not to let any calls or visitors through while she figured out a way to break the news. She finally went into his room to tell him something had happened, and he said “I know your mother is gone; she has already been here.” He died that same night and they had a joint funeral :-)
My grandfather (other side of the family) was a Navy SEAL and he died before I was born (not because of the Navy). I wrote about him for Nablopomo one year:
http://katieswords.blogspot.com/2006/11/veterans-day-herb-ruth.html
I found a picture of their headstone online.
My Poppop used to tease the heck out of us kids. I can hear my Mommom scolding him, “Howard, leave those girls alone!” But he loved us and would call us, “Bay-BEE.” I was only in high school when he passed away, so I don’t have any adult memories of him. He served in WWII and then supported his family repairing televisions. I didn’t quite realize the depth of a marriage until I watched my Mommom grieve after his death. It has been almost 15 years since he passed and I know she still is lonely without him. I wish I had know him as an adult and I wish he could know my children. He would have loved them, teased the heck out of them and called my daughter, “bay-BEE.” I can almost hear it now.
Wow…thinking of Grandpas gets me all emotional. I had two wonderful Grandpas, but I was especially close to one of them. He would take us out in his old mint green pick up truck and let us tell him which way to turn. We tried to get him lost, but he would always find his way back. Sometimes he would even let us steer. He had a soft spot for animals and we would go and feed the ducks and geese. If there were signs up saying that it wasn’t allowed he would feed them on the sly. I have heard from my Mom that he wasn’t always the most affectionate as a Dad, but he was the most loving, affectionate Grandpa I could have asked for.
At one point I read something about who would you want to visit with if you were able to be with someone that you had lost. At the time, it would have been my Grandpa. Now that I have lost my Dad in such a tragic way with a lot unsaid, I would love the chance to spend a moment with him. If only…
My Papaw passed away about five years ago. I had not seen him in a long time (by choice) and was not in town for his funeral (not by choice) but when I reflect back I am glad I missed his final days and the day he was laid to rest. I have good memories of my Papaw. My personal memories of my Papaw are marred with things I’ve chosen to forgive him for and move on. The good memories however are of my Papaw and my girls, especially Heather because OH how she loved her Paw Coggins. When Heather was but about four months old Papaw would pick her up and head outside to the front porch swing. He would prop a pillow on the swing to lay Heather on and they would sit there together, swinging, and him singing to her … singing whatever came to mind … “Heather’s down at Paw’s house, on the front porch, just a swingin’, down at Paw’s house.” I can hear him still today, singing to her. When they were tired of swinging and singing he would reach into the chair beside the swing and pick up his Bible then start reading to her. He would read for a while then talk to her about what he was reading. When Heather got older she would tag along behind Papaw to the barn when he went to feed the cattle. She would look up at him and say “Me ride Macarroni today Paw Coggins?” If it was a good day and the heifer was behaving herself then Papaw would rub her down and ask her to take Heather for a ride then Papaw would sit Heather up on Macarroni’s back and walk her through the barn and out into the sunlight for a stroll around the barnyard.
I could ramble all day about the memories I have of my children and my Papaw … I think instead I will grab a glass of sweet tea and join you in the swing and feel the breeze while allowing my mind to be flooded with memories of days that were …
I answered your call! I have a whole post dedicated to Grandpa on my blog. Most just memories but it is what makes my Grandpas, my grandpas.
I lost my grandfather in 2001. He was 93. I have so many fond memories of him and my grandmother and their little home in southern Louisiana. The big garden he grew every year. I loved that he loved making things and I loved watching him work. He had a great sense of humor and a loving heart/soul. We called him Tootsie and I miss him everyday.
My grandpa was such a kind man. He was always there to play checkers or to teach me things from his vast knowledge. He was a science teacher before he retired and if you ever asked him “Grandpa, what did you teach?” he would always get this knowing smile and answer “Oh, boys and girls.”
He had this horrible gold colored tie that he would wear to every wedding. We tried to buy him a new one, but he always showed up in the gold one anyway. It wasn’t until I was looking through old photographs that I realized that the gold tie was the one he wore to his own wedding! He didn’t even tell any of us why he wore the ugly, outdated thing. It became a beautiful tradition and all of us came to love that tie.
Two months before my wedding, he died. It was somewhat sudden, and horribly difficult for me. I positively cried when I walked in on the morning of my wedding and saw my father wearing the old gold tie. I knew that grandpa was there with us.
Sending prayers your way, I can only imagine sitting on that swing with you, but just thinking of my grandpa this morning has brought on the tears.
Mine ended up so long that I don’t think it will fit in the comment box, so I’ll link to the post on my own blog where I reminisce about my Pappaw.
http://qwertytigger.blogspot.com/2008/05/pappaw.html
My paternal grandfather died before I was born, my maternal grandfather died when I was young.
I actually have no living grandparents. They all passed years and years ago.
So, if no one minds.. I’ll just enjoy the memories you are all sharing.
Thank you.. by the way.. for sharing.
My grandfather flew a B-17 in WWII. He kept a journal and even though you know he made it home, it is riveting. He’s been gone 3 yrs. We were blessed to have him spend his last few years with us and he lived life to the fullest. He took care of my husband and I, not really the other way around. Lord I miss him.
My dad’s dad was the only grandfather I knew. He had very big hands and the family story goes that when I was born, my arm was as big around as his finger. He had been orphaned as a small child and sent to the children’s home (through which, 85 years later, we adopted some of our children!) and spent time in various foster homes, running away from the abuse he received in at least one. At some point, he completed an eighth grade education. Finally, through an itinerant pastor, his older sister located him when he was a teen and he was reunited with his siblings. Knowing all of this about his childhood, I was always so amazed at what a gentle, quiet, wise, upstanding, hard-working man he was, with no vices whatsoever.
He was totally devoted to my grandma, with whom he had eloped on New Year’s Eve, 1930, and whom he always called, “Mother.” I had never seen them express a lot of affection, but when she died, he leaned over her casket and gave her a kiss.
Thanks for prompting these memories! Maybe I should have put this on my blog! Maybe I will….
my grandpa passed away just last year. he was amazing. he was 95. at every family reunion for the past 10 years he would tell us, ‘that was nice, i’ll be dead the next time’. he was a farmer his whole life. when he couldn’t see anymore to drive, he took up four-wheeling. and gave out scruffy burn your face with his whiskers kisses. apparently my grandma missed him too, she died less than 6 months after he did. I’m sure they are happy now.
Mrs. OMSH thanks for the tribute to my Mom and Dad. I grew through every one of those wrinkles (probably cause most) on his face and now mine are catching up. He and mom did their best to bring me up likewise and I did my best to bring you up in the same manner. Its called “Legacy” and its a powerful gift. I am blessed indeed with the opportunity to witness these same values passed through you two on to your children (my grandchildren). It is one of life’s greatest joys.
Thank you for the gift of your talent put to use with both the photos and the written reminder. I truly love you.
Okay, I made it through all of the comments without getting all choked up at the wonderful memories but the one from your dad has me crying now. That’s beautiful. You are blessed indeed, Heather.
My grandpa was named Chester also. He was born in 1892 and died in 1972 when I was 14.
My mom said he cheated at cards, but I think he was just that good. He bought me my first blue dress and ice cream cone. Both on the same day for my 1st birthday..we have super-8 movies to document it.
He was stuborn and loyal, fierce and generous.
My grandmother said he always made sure she had a blue dress. I was with her when she bought her last one…for my wedding…and then she told me to make sure that was the dress she was buried in. I did.
Chester is just the most perfect name for a grandpa. And it matches his face.
I have one living cantankerous grandfather, and one passed hermit grandfather, and dozens of stories about the both of them.
My hermit grandfather lived up the mountain from my parents when I was born. I had gastric reflux back in the days when they had no real treatment for that, and my screams echoed up to his cabin quite clearly.
One afternoon when I was only a few weeks old, he showed up at his daughter’s door (wearing one of his typical plaid wool work shirts), and just held out his arms for me, and told her to go take a nap.
He took me back to his little cabin, and fed me a bottle of just-squeezed, warm goat milk from the nanny goat he was watching for a friend.
He kept the goat a few months, and milked her twice a day for me, and I eventually stopped projectile vomiting, and stopped screaming, and we all got along well.
He never talked a great deal, but he was a handsome fellow, and would give a person the shirt off his back, or build them a house, or milk a goat for them. I get the red in my hair from him, my freckles from him, and my fondness for solitude and mountains from him. Not a bad legacy, that.
(He always smelled like fresh chopped wood and a tinge of pipe tobacco, and Ivory soap… When my mother made a wool crazy quilt for my son, after Grandpa had died, she left the pockets on, because that’s Col’s legacy–he’s a pocket-putter-inner like his great grandpa–and the whole blanket smelled like wood and tobacco and soap for quite some time!)
My grandpa taught me how to ride horses. He raised quarter horses and so there were plenty to learn on. Riding horses became my passion and got me through some tough times after my parents divorced.
He passed away almost 6 years ago.
We are in the “young child” phase of life/finances and have just this month decided to sell my horse. So lately I’ve wondered if he is looking down from heaven and crying with me as I sell my first horse. I miss him.
I never knew my paternal grandfather, but I clearly remember the time spent with my maternal grandfather. He used to always smoke a pipe and sit out on his porch in the evening. I still love the smell of tobacco as it reminds me of him. He had those horn rimmed glasses and always wore coveralls to work around the house in. He was loving and kind and referred to Happy Meals from McDonald’s as “Happy boxes”. I miss him. You are lucky to still have your grandpa around.
My Grandpa is my Dad’s dad. Grandpa was an excavator and I remember going with Grandma to bring him lunch when he was working. He’d let me share his cherry pie (the Hostess ones) and give me a ride on his backhoe.
One time I was sitting on the fender of the backhoe while Grandpa was doing something in the yard. The tractor lurched and I fell off. I don’t really remember that part, but I do remember going back up on the tractor and watching as Grandpa installed a handle on the fender. He told me I needed to hold on tightly to the handle and I was very nervous about falling.
My Gpa is 92 also and has been given only 2 more months. His only kidney is shutting down. He is still with it though and entertains us with witty banter every time we visit. He has started telling me “I love you” a lot more lately and Im sure he realizes he is slipping away. I have been reflecting a lot on what to say…. how do tell someone you love goodbye? By the way, that picture of your Grandpa is beautiful. You are so talented… thanks for sharing it with us.
My maternal grandpa is hilarious! He and my grandmother just celebrated 51 years, and they poke fun at eachother all the time, they are so funny to watch. He lost his right hand in a farming accident 2 years ago, so my Grandma has had to look after him alot, but they love eachother so sweetly… my husband and I just got married, and we are going to make the trek to visit them and learn from them monthly event… we want to be like them in 50 years!
My granddad was a farmer and a manly man who only had daughters and granddaughters and loved us all unconditionally. When our moms were fed up with us they took us out to his farm. They would pull up beside whatever field he was plowing in and wait. As soon as he saw the car his big green John Deere would head over to the road. No questions asked he would climb down off the tractor, pick up whichever offensive kid needed a time out, and we would “plow” with him the rest of the day. He would share his hard candy with us and we would always fall asleep on the leadge behind the seat. we stayed at my grandparents house frequently. He always let us have his “shots” (needles removed) after his morning insulin shot and we would shoot water at each other. To this day I cannot smell scrambled eggs without thinking of mornings at his house. Thanks for giving me a reason to think about him today.
My grandpa left his family farm to join the army. He landed on the beach in Normandy. He lost his leg and his squad in a foxhole. But he came home, build a family, worked hard and raised us with respect for our country, our freedoms, and a love of baseball.
My grandpa is often in your Sunday paper. He is the inspiration for B.C.’s Wiley- the baseball poet.
My grandpa died a few years ago. In February, 2005. I remember him dancing with his great grandchildren, my cousin’s daughters, at her wedding the previous November. He was in his eighties, had bad knees, but he let them take his hands and dance a song or two.
I went over to his house with my parents when I was in town that winter. We’d had dinner and for some reason he had tuned the television in the dining room to the Lifetime network. We’d discussed the fact that all those Lifetime movies had to do with women who did something bad to the men in their lives out of revenge for something the men did to them, but he left it on, anyway. Probably just because he forgot. Or didn’t care.
After dinner, my mom cleaned up and my dad went into the living room. I don’t know what happened to Mom, but eventually, it was me and Grandpa, watching Avalanche! on Lifetime, which was an odd movie because David Hasselhoff was a bad guy and it didn’t follow the usual Lifetime movie woman’s revenge kind of theme. Grandpa eventually fell asleep in his chair, and I found my parents both asleep themselves on the couch. I don’t know why I like that memory, watching a bad David Hasselhoff movie with Grandpa at his dining room table, but it makes me smile when I think of it.
This was my mother’s father. I didn’t know my father’s, who died well before I was born.
What gorgeous photos! Love them.
Both of my Papaws are gone now, but I have great memories. My maternal grandpa was a truly wonderful man. He always had a kind word, he could fix anything and he absolutely lived for my grandma. He loved to play cards, tell stories about playing basketball in high school and work in the garden. I distinctly remember Papaw coming to pick me up sick from school once, spending the afternoon on their couch with a puke bowl nearby watching game shows on tv. He grew wonderful tomatoes, corn and flowers in the garden. He liked to fish and fry up a batch of bluegill in the Frydaddy. I have a lot of their things that were passed down to me and I love that every time I see a certain dish or table, it brings those memories flooding back. You could NOT leave their house without several hugs and kisses and Papaw telling you, “Don’t take any wooden nickels.”
Love the topic! I lost my Grandpa (Papa) a year ago this month. He was 94. He always had the best stories and his laugh was infectious. I will never forget how he treated my Nana…she was the most beautiful, special lady in the room. I’m glad he’s finally with her again after years of pain and loneliness. Thanks for the reminder.
I LOVED my grandpas and both died before I was 20. One was from North Carolina and had a great accent. He would take me to the sotre and buy me a Barbie doll then to the coffee shop to visit with his friends.
The other grandpa was a real cowboy and let me ride his horses and then refused to let me drive unless I learned on his stick shift truck.
I think both my father and father-in-law are similar in that my kids LOOOOVE their grandpas like I loved mine. Of course I want my dad to be their favorite grandpa, but what can ya do?
regrets: I hadn’t seen my grandfather in over 12 years. He passed away and I never got to say good-bye.
*sigh* I miss my grandpa’s, but one more than the other because I knew him better.
My father’s father was named Bill. He was very handsome, although bald, and had a closely cropped fuzz of white hair that went around the bottom of his head from ear to ear, along with a matching mustache. He stood around 6 feet tall and was slimly built. His nickname was Duke from his early boxing days many years ago. He loved to ride motorcycles and my grandmother says that she threw herself in front of his motorcycle in order to catch his eye. Which wasn’t true, of course, but we always liked to laugh about it. He served in World War II in Italy and received a Purple Heart after receiving the “million dollar wound” the same as Forrest Gump: shrapnel to the butt-tocks. Grandpa used to ride the rails as a kid with his brother to go visit their relatives. He had a twin brother and two other brothers who are also twins and one sister. When I was a little girl I used to take tap and ballet dance lessons. He used to always ask me to dance for him, but I was always too embarrased to. He would tease me and say that he was going to cut my long braided pony tail off and use it as a watch fob. He lived in the Northwest and loved to fish. One time he passed out, fell over, and hit his head on a rock on the side of the creek he was fishing at. His friend found him with bloody water swirling around his head. He was okay, though. At one of the places where he and Grandma lived there was a large tool shed. Grandpa told me he was going to clear it out and turn it into a playhouse for my sister and I. But he never got to. He and Grandma bought some property and decided to build a house. One day, Grandma came home from the grocery store and found Grandpa on the floor in front of the sofa with only one sock on. He died of a heart attack. He was only 64 years old and I was only seven. I was taking a nap when the phone rang and my mother answered it. Grandma was hysterical, not making sense. Dad came running down the hallway to his bedroom, sobbing and wailing in anguish. I started to cry profusely too. The other little kids woke up and wandered into my room. “What happened?” they groggily asked. “Grandpa died!” I cried. “What?” they asked, not understanding. “GRANDPA DIIIIED!!!!”, I wailed. We drove up to Washington, to the beautiful Colubmia River Gorge, and buried Grandpa Bill on the property. Grandma was only 57. The house wasn’t finished being built. Years later I cried several times over the fact that I never danced for him. Any time I saw a ballet on TV or a live recital with ballet, I’d think of how much Grandpa liked ballet and how I didn’t dance for him, and I’d cry. He died 23 years ago, but it seems like I last saw him about 10 years ago.
My mother’s father is a gruff, cranky man, who spent his whole life working in the oil industry (mostly in the field, so they relocated all over the world and spent months without my grandpa being home). He does not suffer fools at all, much less lightly, and has a sharp tongue that you do NOT want pointed at you. He tells great stories, though - and omg, does he have a ton of them - but you have to catch him in the right mood. He sings like an old-timey country western singer, and one of my favorite memories is of him tooling around the house, singing the Hank Williams song about the Indian maiden. He used to sing Burl Ives songs and the one about the hole in the bottom of the sea to me when I was little. To this day, I come damn close to bawling every time I hear “Mr. Froggy Went A-Courtin’.” I also loved when they would go to their best friends’ house, or the friends would come to my grandparents’ house, and play dominoes or cards or whatever. They were so much more entertaining than whatever I was supposed to be doing instead of listening to them. Unfortunately, my grandmother had a stroke several years ago and the game-playing slowed down, and now both of the friends have passed away. My grandpa seems sad and lonely and I wish like anything that there was a way to get those days back.
My dad’s non-biological dad, the one who actually raised him, lives in Australia, so I’ve only seen him three or four times, including the trip I made there when I was three. My favorite memory of him was during a visit he made to my dad’s house when I was about 22. My dad, who drinks Foster’s every once in a while but was last drunk about 30 years ago, sat outside with my grandpa in front of a bonfire they’d built in the back yard, drinking more Foster’s than I’ve ever seen in one place. They were telling stories about crazed rabbit colonies taking over farms and knocking down horses and I thought they’d both lost their minds and I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants - seriously. He also smashed the cans and threw them in the fire to see how long it would take for them to melt and told dirty jokes. The whole thing seemed oddly frat party-ish and COMPLETELY out of keeping with the way I normally think of my dad, but totally believable with my grandpa because, quite frankly, I didn’t know him well enough to know if it was out of character for him (I know now that it was totally IN character!).
My dad’s biological dad is a pianist who lives in California. He and my dad didn’t have a relationship until relatively recently. I’ve never met him, but we email periodically. I hope to visit this year, but you never know. He’s more than 80 years old, though, so it’s not like I have forever to get on the ball. He seems like a fascinating person, and I can’t wait to introduce him to my daughter.
Thanks for the post. Love the pictures!
My paternal grandfather passed away before I was born. I don’t have any memories of him. I “borrow” memories that my father or grandmother would tell me about him.
My maternal grandfather was retired by the time I remember him He would always come to visit on Sundays. He drove a BIG BLUE car. He crossed his legs when he sat at the table. He always had pens in his shirt pocket, he wore black wire rimmed glasses and would always say “come here little Laurie” lets see if Grandpa has 50 cents for you. He would give me a silver dollar. I would give him Old Spice FOR EVERY SINGLE OCCASION and he would act SURPRISED EVERY SINGLE TIME. I miss him very much. He died when I was 9. It was the first time I had seen my mother cry.
Hope you feel better. I read EVERY single day. But from work and cannot comment. Please know you help me feel connected to my family while I am working.
You know, when I started this post, I knew a few would respond with heartwarming stories, but I had no idea how many would respond.
I have read each and every one and I see so much warmth, so much love, so much heartache, and in some cases, regret.
Overall it seems Grandpas just make a mark that runs deep–to our core.
I cannot tell you how fabulous it has been to read all your memories. It seems so trivial to say thanks, but really…thank you.
This is like Chicken Soup for the Soul, but better.
OMSH, that photo of your grandpa is…is…just beautiful. Ugh, it’s just perfect. And it made me cry.
‘Cause I don’t got no grandpa!
[...] « « Grandpas [...]
What a beautiful picture of your grandpa…wow! I grew up with grandpas but do not have one here with me anymore. But my favorite grandpa was my “Papa”. The warmest sweetest man ever to walk the Earth. He was a giver, gave the best hugs and was always whistling…I guess because he was truly a happy person. But I remember the exact day I knew he was “amazing”….It was about 6 months before he passed away and he told me that he wasn’t our “real” Papa. He told me that he married my grandma before all of us grandkids were born and came into the family when life was really bad…when my grandma needed someone to take on the responsibility of dad, husband and provider. She was all alone and needed someone. He came to the rescue and took care of my dad and all of the others…and everyone just left it at that. He was their dad. He was our Papa. He lived his life giving and taking care of children and grandchildren that were inherited through his marriage to my grandmother. He never lived his life in any way that would have made us think we weren’t the most important people in the world.
My Grandpa died on September 11, 2003. The last time I remember seeing him was a couple years before that, upstairs at my aunt Mary-Lou’s house. I’d gone up to use the bathroom and he was in the hallway when I came out. He carried an oxygen tank and he was very soft. I think he was shy. We didn’t talk much in crowds (my family is big and loud) but in the hallway he took my hand and squeezed it. I’m sure I saw him at least once after that, but that’s the moment I remember. At his funeral I touched his hand but it didn’t feel like him anymore.
What a perfect picture, Heather. I’m sorry you’ve had a rough day (yesterday). ((((hugs)))) He looks like such an incredible man.
I never knew either of my real Grandpas. They both died before I was born. My Dad’s Mom remarried the year I was born. Everyone thought they were crazy… two old people getting married! They met… get this… at a Christian CLOWNING association! I kid you not! LOL (Don’t tell either of them that I’m not terribly fond of clowns myself.)
Thankfully the never dressed up as clowns in front of us! Oh, Grandpa would put on a wig or a red nose whenever we’d go over there but he wouldn’t act like a lunatic and smash his fingers on purpose with oversized rubber mallets or anything like that.
He did do lots of magic tricks though. I especially remember Herkimer. Herkimer was Grandpa’s magical hanky. He would fold it “just so” on the table and then he would stand and say, “Herkimer, if you’re there… give us a sign………” ((((silence filled the room)))) We would all just about give up entirely on Herkimer thinking that he was maybe perhaps all herked out. But then as we were about to get downtrodden, the hanky would suddenly leap off the table.
I still don’t know how he did it. Must have been some sort of….. MAGIC! (Or a little metal thing that snapped back into place after a minute…) But I think it was magic.
That and Grandpa had a glass eye. We never knew quite when he was really sleeping or just fake sleeping on our couch. He really liked waking up suddenly and telling us that he could see us with that glass eye always opened like that.
First, Chester looks like everything a grandpa should be, tough, well worn, twinkly eyed, loveable. And that spot under the tree? Count me there.
Grandpas… I remember mostly his hands, gnarled from years of hard work as a farmer and a mechanic. He always smelled of this mixture of gasoline and earth. He watched Family Feud when he came in for his lunch. He soaked his graham crackers in coffee. He could always make my great grandma laugh, even when she was mad at him. He played the guitar like a man on fire… I don’t know how he did that with those gnarled hands, and never a lesson… He was just born to it.
The 2 memories that stand out the most to me of my grandpa:
About 4 years ago his health started to go downhill. My husband and I were visiting and when I was leaving my grandfather hugged me and said “I love you baby”. He was never one to show affection or tell his feelings. That meant alot to me. I can still hear him saying it and I know the exact spot we weer standing when he said it and I can smell his scent if I think about it real hard.
The other one was almost a year ago. I was telling my mom on the phone (we live in MS, my grandparents and parents live in NY) about something funny my daughter had done. She went to my grandparent’s house after we talked and was telling them what I had told her. At this time my grandfather was not doing well, but when my mom told him the story about my daughter he gave a chuckle and even later was still chuckling about it. That night he had a stroke and went into a coma and never woke up. It made me happy that on one of his last days he found joy in something one of my children did, and that maybe that was the last time he laughed. He died 4 days later. He was a tough man to deal with, but he was so smart and always had a joke to tell.
Oh, and one more thing. This is amazing to me….as I said above he didn’t show his feelings all that much (at least that I saw, and I know my mom didn’t feel his love very much). I was actually on my way to NY for a vacation the day he went into a coma, so I was able to be there for his funeral. My uncle was cleaning the basement and going through papers and stuff and when he quit I started. I was moving some papers and found an envelope with my grandmother’s name on it in my grandfather’s handwriting. I ran upstairs and gave it to her. It was a short note telling her that he really had loved her all those years (54 years) and some other stuff I can’t remember. He had written it at least 3-4 years before he died (probably when his health was going downhill, we only knew that because he was unable to write with his illness)and had hidden it to be found after his death. I thought it was so sweet!!
My paternal grandfather was actually my dad’s great uncle. Dad’s mom died young and the real grandfather shipped his sons off to relatives because he couldn’t handle it.
Papa Roy died when I was 3 1/2 but I remember him better than most other relatives. He had had a stroke before I was born and used a walker and his speech was unclear. My mom says that we understood each other completely. My first steps were taken beside Papa Roy holding onto his walker. When he died, I wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral. Grandma thought it would upset me. I was more upset about being excluded.
My grandparents were awesome. I was at *both* of their 50th anniversary shindigs in varying awful early 90’s attire. :) They are inseparable, even in death. Here’s a semi-recent entry (http://www.xanga.com/LannaM/649885915/damn-hormones.html) on my Grandma and Papa - they were wheat farmers. My sister and I would get to go out in the field for a day and ride trucks and combines and all that good stuff - needing a shower when we got back because wheat chaff in the undies isn’t too comfy. Or we’d go bopping down to the shop to tell Papa he had a phone call if we couldn’t get him on the CB…
Other set, Grandma and Grandpa, had their own homestead for a while, their own lumber mill that Grandpa ran, and a garden that fed many of us over the years. I’d walk over to the lumber mill with Grandpa to have my eardrums cleared out, or one particular time (I even have a photo somewhere!) I was wearing my red with white fuzzy trim coat and Grandpa was letting me “drive” the tractor (aka I had my hands on the steering wheel between his). He taught me how to pick blueberries, and I was the best blueberry picker of all my uncles and cousins. ;)
I’m late to the game, but here goes -
My maternal grandfather Harold died when I was quite young. I really only have one memory of him before he was very sick.
Before I could write “for reals” I loved to write pretend letters, put them in envelopes and try to mail them. I remember sitting at my grandparents table - happily “writing” away on several sheets of paper. My grandfather started tickling me - which escalated into me being chased around the table running from him so he couldn’t tickle me anymore. We were both screaming with laughter. I can distinctly remember the smile on his face as I would check to make sure he wasn’t catching up to me.
Ugh, I’m getting all teary writing this. I really miss him.
wow, I just stumbled upon this site from another, and these pictures are just stunning. I was completely lost inthem for about 10 minutes.
Amazing work.
Love love love the photo of your grandpa and could write screensful about mine… my dad’s dad died when I was in elementary school, and my grandma remarried a wonderful man who was my Pappy for close to 30 years. My mom’s dad died when she was in her early ’20s, so I never knew him. My own dad died when I was 14. But my kids are blessed with a fantastic Pappy in my husband’s father.
[...] more. This week has been an excellent time to sit back and listen to you guys. Whether about your Grandpas or about your own shared struggles with depression. Heck, even just reading over and over that I am [...]
It has been almost 15 years since my grandfather died. I still miss him. He was not a gentle man and was not prone to demonstrations of affection. When we were young, we could always earn a bit of change by combing his hair. He would prolong the chore by reaching up and scratching his head just as you were smoothing down his thin white hair and you would have to start all over and he would cackle with glee. I was the youngest grandchild and one of only two girls so I had a bit of a different relationship with him than the rest. I would plop down in his lap for a cuddle not really understanding that wasn’t his way. As a teen, I combed his hair a bit less but told him that I loved him every time I saw him. His typical response was a gruff “I know”. It became our little inside joke. Once in a blue moon, he would tell me that he loved me too and I treasure those times. As he aged, it became necessary for him to enter a nursing home because my grandmother was no longer able to care for him at home. This was a bitter pill to swallow for this strong and fiercely independent man who built several homes from the ground up. He was frequently angry and at times violent to those around him. I continued to tell him that I loved him and often he would respond with only an angry wave of his hand. The last time that I saw him alive, he was particularly surly and before I left for the evening, I looked him in the eyes and told him once again that I loved him. He gave me the greatest gift he could have by looking at me and saying “I love you too”.
I was writing out a big huge long comment, but decided to share the story with my family too, so it’s on my site. :)
http://brookesummer.blogspot.com/2008/05/grandpap-story.html
Too funny…
My dad’s dad died before I was born so I have no memory of him to offer up. Here is my story of my mom’s dad. I know it’s long enough that I should post it on my blog, but I have a baby sleeping on my shoulder & don’t have the patience to post it. Besides I’ve had to cut some out, so it makes sense to put the whole thing on my blog when I have 2 hands to type.
************************
If you had asked me before he passed, I would have said that the strongest memory I have of my grandpa was at my grandma’s wake. I saw him cry and it touched me deeply. I cried so hard at Grandma’s service (I was 15) that many of her friends came up to me to tell me a story or something that they remembered about her (or her telling them about me) and to give me a hug. But later in the afternoon I saw him crying and saying that he was going to have to learn to talk to his kids. My mom is the second of five children and I realized then that we had always called it “Grandma’s House” and were “going to visit Grandma June.” Even though he was there he was invisible to us. She worked very hard to insulate him from the trials and tribulations of our big clan because she felt that he had enough to worry about what with bringing in the money. At least that’s what I found out later. At the time I just thought that was how they had divvied things up.
In the years between Grandma’s passing and Grandpa getting sick he was a changed man. There are 11 of us cousins and us older 6 had a very different Grandpa than the younger 5. He would hug them, smile at them and let them sit on his knee. At their age we had always been told not to bother him. Having seen what I had seen and heard what I had heard, I was very impressed that he managed to do what he felt needed to be done. He showed my cousins the love that Grandma would have if she had been there. I was never jealous though; I may have gotten a more reserved Grandpa, but I had my own memories of times with Grandma that these kids would never have.
When Grandpa got sick it was August and he was convinced that he wouldn’t live to see his 81st birthday in December. The night before his birthday he called us into his room one by one to say goodbye. I don’t know what he said to anyone else, but he told me that he regretted not hugging us more when we were little kids. I had been there day in and day out, putting in my hospice shifts helping to take care of him just like my mom, aunts and uncles. So I told him that he must have done just fine otherwise we wouldn’t have all come to take care of him when he needed us. We hugged, we cried, and I left the room.
The next day we had a huge birthday party for him. A few weeks later we had a big Christmas celebration with him. And then a nice New Year’s Eve. He didn’t pass until January 14th, 17 years to the day after Grandma died. I consider that his last gift to us, a little sign that they are together. And as someone who can still bawl like a baby at how much she misses her grandma I think *that* was the sweetest thing that my grandpa ever did for me.
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