June 19, 1976. I was six years old and my Grandfather was 56. He died after a battle with lung cancer. I barely knew him but I have many great memories of him.
He was a farmer and a fireman. He also served in WWII with the RCE as a Sapper. When I knew him, he worked at Buckerfields. I remember him showing me the cats that lived there. I always knew when we were at Buckerfields because there was (and still is) a large hedgehog sign for a deli right beside it.
He died much too young. I wish that I could have known him better and longer. I remember my Mom coming to my room early one morning to tell me that he had died. I remember the funeral. I stayed at the house down the road with my sister and Grandma Whitehead. She told me that it was only for the adults. I could see the procession out the living room window.
I don't ever remember visiting the grave site without my Mom so the last time was when I was still a kid. I remember the Weeping Willow tree (there's a story there somewhere).
Last summer I went to visit his grave, just after the 30 year anniversary of his death. It took me a while to find his stone and I could see where the tree was. I straightened up the markers, Grandad's, his Dad and his Mom also. I wished that I had brought a brush or something to do a better job of cleaning them up. Next time. I got all choked up as I stood there remembering. There is so little time to spend with the ones you love. I am thankful though, for my memories.
1 comment:
Grama D emailed me your blog site. I was very touched reading about Grandpa's life. I did not know much about him but remember going to his gravesite each summer with Mom when we were down at the coast. I also did not know you liked to write. You are very good at writing about whatever comes to mind.
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