Grandpa

Yesterday my Grandpa went to be with Jesus.

It's funny all of the little memories I had forgotten until I started reflecting. Once I started thinking about spending time with Grandpa when I was a kid, memory after memory came flooding back.

I loved seeing Grandpa and Grandma's car drive up our driveway. It usually meant we would be eating fried chicken, a meal that we didn't ever have unless they brought it. The smell would fill the kitchen as we unpacked the bag from the Colonel. The mashed potatoes with gravy and coleslaw could never beat the lure of the biscuits. Slap on some butter and jelly and oh, it was heavenly. Grandpa would always great us with a robust hug and a big laugh. Sometimes they had just returned from a bus tour of some part of the country and we were always anxious to see what treasures they had brought home for us. A favorite was a little beaded purse from another state, big enough to hold a few coins.

When we visited their house, I loved stepping out the back door to inspect Grandpa's garden. It was always prefect with straight rows of greenery and black dirt. We walked past that garden and down the alley to church when we were visiting for the weekend. I always hoped to sit it the balcony. Sometimes we did. I remember the hymnals and the short stubby pencils for writing on the offering envelope. After church we would walk back to the house for a feast. Grandpa was always right there in the kitchen beside Grandma, helping her cook. I love that about him. He was a man's man, but not so much that he wouldn't help prepare the Sunday meal. The relish tray was never without homemade dill pickles.

I have memory after memory. Each one triggers another. I know Grandpa had a lifetime of memories of his own, some that he thought of often and some tucked far in the back of his mind. He lived a full life. We miss you Grandpa.