My granddad has been on my mind lately, this time of year especially. I miss him every day.
Sometimes, I struggle to hear his voice. The passage of time continues to chip away at my memory of the cadence and warmth of his sound. Sure, I remember his words, but it’s his voice I wish I could hear. Even being a room with him in silence would be comforting.
He would love it here. He would be as enamored with this ridge as I am, listening to birdsong and watching the deer each morning and evening. And the foxes. He’d point with his middle finger, as I sometimes catch myself doing, and say, “You see ‘em? Idn’t that something?”
I’m certain that I put him on a pedestal he wouldn’t want. I’m sure I easily overlooked his flaws as a man, husband, and father and he wouldn’t have wanted that. He was quiet, humble, funny, and tender. He was a man of his word. He embodied everything I hope to be in this world.
He was a brick mason and a preacher. I still drive by homes he bricked especially ones I helped him with when I’d work with him in the summertime. I keep hoping I’ll run across a recording of one of his sermons on a cassette tape somewhere.
He’d have something to say about how I stacked my firewood, but it would be with genuine curiosity after fervent observation. He’d love our home and the peace we’ve found here. What I’d give to walk these woods with him just once.
When we’d hunt when I was little, I’d often watch him sit down at the base of a hickory tree, shotgun across his lap. After a while, his shoulders and head would begin to slump and he’d be sound asleep, squirrels darting around as if he wasn’t there. It was never about hunting and always about just being with him.
I don’t really know how to measure his impact in the world, but I know his impact on mine. I can only hope to be half the man he was.
I miss you, Granddad.
- Roger
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I thoroughly enjoy reading heartfelt words such as these. I never had the privilege of meeting either of my grandfathers as they had passed prior to my arrival in '67. One was an educated bookkeeper for a coal company. The other, an uneducated coal miner and pastor up the holler at Octavia - a Baptist church, just not sure which type of Baptist. Would love to have known them.
**EDIT** Coming back to say that the very similar photos of you two measuring the snow really add to your entry this week.
Great tribute to what sounds like a great man. My WV granddad died 7 months before I was born but my dad taught me much about what was also, a great man.