Rejoicing in my Grampa's departure from his earthly shell of a body, into his brand-spankin' new body as he walks with the Lord TODAY!
Grieved for my family and for myself for our loss of an amazing man.
Living a field away, my brother and I trekked to Grama and Grampa's farmhouse every day (sometimes several times a day!) to pester, taste-test treats, earn "the big bucks", and be generally loved upon.
We were never disappointed:-) Grama and Grampa's door was always open to us - and we always walked right in - announced or not!
Grampa was a musician. A TRUE musician. He played the organ, piano, and accordion using all ten fingers and possibly more, though I never proof of the extras. He loved hymns and gospel; big band, and polka. If it was music and tickled his fancy he could play it.
It was Grampa who funded my piano lessons. That was a gift I never appreciated fully until now - even more these past two weeks as I have a piano of my own finally up here on this otherwise silent mountain Marvel Hill. Though slightly out of tune, the music flows delighted fingers dancing over the keys.
My heart sings as well. I have thought: "After all that encouragement to practice, Grampa would be so pleased to hear..."
Perhaps he does... today.
Grama and Grampa traveled some and made friends all over the country - many musicians as he was. Just that Grampa could make friends at every corner of the earth speaks volumes of his gentle charismatic personality. Always a grin from ear to ear, like he knew a secret you had yet to discover. I hope I uncover some of those secrets; I'd like to wear Grampa's countenance so gracefully into my aged years.
Grampa's door was not open only to his grandchildren and family, and there were often extra chairs set at the holiday meal table, or a motor home parked in the driveway and an impromptu jam session which rattled the farmhouse windowpanes and echoed across the field.
We were always invited, and Charlie, Molly, and I would link arms and do-saw-do in circles in time to Grampa's tapping foot.
Those times instilled in us a love for all kinds of music; not so much as a form of entertainment, but rather a means to express the heart, and a way to draw people together in warm fellowship.
Next week my brother Charlie visits us along with some other friends of ours. I cherish hopes of sharing some "jam sessions" while together with our families, and I bet both Charlie and I will be thinking of Grampa. It won't be helped, nor would we avoid it.
Another of my favorite Grampa memories is the way he made every occasion a party and called it such.
I mentioned that we showed up in Grama's kitchen almost daily, and she was quick to welcome us with nibbles of her current baking. Inevitably we'd park ourselves at her table for lunch, and we could depend on Grampa pulling a candle out of a cupboard and leaning close to us conspiratorially while he lit it, and he'd say: "It's like we're having a party! Lets make it a real party;-)"
And he really said that every time I can remember. And it was. It was always a party because Grampa made sure we had a candle to celebrate being together.
The stories I could write of times spent with Grampa would fill a book. Perhaps one day it will.
Tonight my thoughts trail off, and I would rather indulge my musings without typing them on a keypad.
Simply said, I am in awe to think of my Grampa visiting with my Jesus. Right. This. Minute.
What a Father's Day it must have been for him!
I love you dearest Grampa. You will be missed... please have a candle ready for when I meet you there. I'm looking forward to a real party!
3 years ago