We have all lost someone dear to us. Many losses have been recent. Feel free to share your memories and let the legacy of your loved one be known.
When my wife's grandfather passed away over a month ago, several of you asked me to share a story or two. I had a tough time typing out what I wanted to say. I met my wife's grandfather about a month after I lost my own. My grandfather was my friend, fishing partner, and partner in crime. We had a lot of fun. My wife's grandfather filled a void that was left when my own grandfather passed, and then he taught me more about life than I ever knew possible.
Most know that my wife is German. Her entire family is from Germany, but when they left Europe, they became American patriots. Her grandfather, father, and uncles joined the Army (with the exception of two). Her dad did not see active duty, but her grandfather and uncles did. They all fought in Vietnam, and Pop was also involved in the Korean conflict. He retired Command Sgt Major.
Why is Vietnam significant? Sgt Major was only assigned one tour of duty, but he had boots in the mud four different times. He volunteered to risk his life in the jungle to be with his children. These two young men that he risked his life for were not his biological children, he adopted them when he married their mother. He never showed an ounce of difference between any of his children, and loved me as if I was his own grandson.
On his last tour in Vietnam Pop found his oldest son's camp destroyed. Everyone was dead, with the exception of his son. He found him bleeding with a knife in his back. If not for that last voluntary tour his son would have died with his buddies.
I loved going through the gates of Ft Gordon with this man. He was saluted by everyone that recognized him. In fact, soldiers, and retired soldiers, saluted him on the street. He was respected and loved.
When Pop retired he moved on to work at a chemical plant, and eventually retired there. However, every spare moment was spent with his family. They played ball in the yard, had cookouts, and even had a few memorable arguments (normally over his grandchildren - they could do no harm, leave them alone).
Pop could work circles around me. He always had a project to do, and he didn't stop until it was finished. When I was too tired to keep going, he kept moving forward. The man was 40 years older than me, and was stronger than I was. There were no shortcuts. If you were going to do a job halfway, don't bother doing it.
There was no violence in Pop. I look back at the pictures of him with my kids, and I cry (I have tears now and I'm not ashamed). He was their best friend. He would drive to my house 40 miles away to pick up my kids for lunch. He would later call to tell us the girls would be home the next day. They made plans to spend the night. The girls played in the dirt, helped him cut grass while riding on the mower, and they ate nothing but junk food. My children always came home spoiled.
When my wife's grandparents could no longer care for themselves 100%, my wife made the choice to relocate closer to them. We have a home on their land, 1/4 of a mile through the woods. We could see dementia setting in after a stroke, but you would never convince pop that he had a problem. He would just say he forgot things. He was at my house every single day. Sometimes he was there multiple times.
Pop took time with my girls. He helped my oldest as she practiced for hours for soccer. He would be the goalie, and defend a regulation sized goal. He would sit outside with my youngest as she shot archery. He would spend hours with my children. His life revolved around his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. No matter how tired, he was never too tired for the kids.
The kids decorated his Christmas tree each year. They made sure to showoff their Halloween costumes to him. And he never forgot a birthday.
My wife's grandparents own an Olympic size swimming pool. Pop refused to let anyone maintain it. It was his, and he was going to care for it. The same went for his property. No one was allowed to cut his grass (unless you were one of the great grandkids). Cutting the grass or cleaning the pool flipped a switch. You would be cussed at by a Sgt Major as you retreated. There were several times after my wife and I moved closer that Pop would cut my grass. He would see me in the yard, on the mower, and he would join in.
The pool has an interesting significance. Pop never learned to swim. He made sure the pool was clean though. He also made sure he was in the pool when the kids were in there, despite the fact that they may have to save him. He followed them around with an umbrella while they swam so they wouldn't be sunburned.
Pop's yard looked like Botanical Gardens. There were always flowers in bloom. At least twice a week he would bring over a fresh bouquet of flowers. He also brought money to give to my girls for whatever they wanted. Last night we spent a couple hours putting the change and other money my girls had into wrappers. There was at least 100lbs of quarters. I stopped counting the bills and change he crammed into their penny banks. All of the change and bills have been sorted. It will be deposited into their savings accounts tomorrow. They had no idea how much the miniscule amounts of money really grew to be.
Pop never dressed in a suit. He could care less about your opinion, and his main attire was blue Dickie pants, a white t shirt, and a blue Dickie jacket. We should have buried him in those clothes, but that was beyond my control.
It hurts to drive down my driveway. I can see Pop's house. His wife is now in a nursing home that she was promised to never inhabit. The lights are off, and the gates are closed. Even as I type this, his death doesn't feel real. My wife's dog sits on the porch and barks every night, waiting for Pop to turn his back porch lights on. I catch myself looking to see his silhouette at one of the windows as I idle down the drive in my loud car.
Speaking of dogs, I used to own a Shepherd. That dog was the meanest animal I had ever met. My daughter could pull his ears, lay on him, and generally abuse him. The dog obeyed my wife and I out of a ladder of dominance. That Shepherd guarded my house with every ounce of his being. No one was going to mess with my daughter. I found one of my deacons sitting on the hood of his truck one day. He stopped by to visit, and the dog jumped the back fence when he stepped on the porch. The hood of his truck was the quickest point of safety. This dog had a serious complex, and to be honest, he was dangerous. Pop never had an issue though. He would get out of his car, walk to the dog, talk to him, pet him, and all was good. I eventually had to give that dog to Pop. The Shepherd would jump the fence and run to the church I pastored. The problem is that the dog was protecting my daughter. He would stand at the door and not let anyone in the building.
In Pop's early days in the Army he would walk to the base. It was 18 miles one way. When he could drive, he picked up strangers. He fed everyone also. If a car was broke down on the highway, he made sure it was taken to his place and moved off of the road.
I could go on and on for hours. I haven't even scratched the surface of the memories I have. I just wish I could be half the man Pop was. This man lived life and set a legacy to be chased.
My wife's grandfather didn't know anything at all about being selfish. He had a servant's heart. He was a true gentleman, and a man I will always admire.
I'm actually sitting outside on my porch now. If he was alive, he would notice the light and come to check on things. Then he would tell me to take my sick butt to bed and rest. I halfway expect him to come strolling through the woods. I know it can't happen, but I can picture it.
Feel free to post your own stories.
Sent from my [trashcan S5] using the svtperformance.com mobile app
When my wife's grandfather passed away over a month ago, several of you asked me to share a story or two. I had a tough time typing out what I wanted to say. I met my wife's grandfather about a month after I lost my own. My grandfather was my friend, fishing partner, and partner in crime. We had a lot of fun. My wife's grandfather filled a void that was left when my own grandfather passed, and then he taught me more about life than I ever knew possible.
Most know that my wife is German. Her entire family is from Germany, but when they left Europe, they became American patriots. Her grandfather, father, and uncles joined the Army (with the exception of two). Her dad did not see active duty, but her grandfather and uncles did. They all fought in Vietnam, and Pop was also involved in the Korean conflict. He retired Command Sgt Major.
Why is Vietnam significant? Sgt Major was only assigned one tour of duty, but he had boots in the mud four different times. He volunteered to risk his life in the jungle to be with his children. These two young men that he risked his life for were not his biological children, he adopted them when he married their mother. He never showed an ounce of difference between any of his children, and loved me as if I was his own grandson.
On his last tour in Vietnam Pop found his oldest son's camp destroyed. Everyone was dead, with the exception of his son. He found him bleeding with a knife in his back. If not for that last voluntary tour his son would have died with his buddies.
I loved going through the gates of Ft Gordon with this man. He was saluted by everyone that recognized him. In fact, soldiers, and retired soldiers, saluted him on the street. He was respected and loved.
When Pop retired he moved on to work at a chemical plant, and eventually retired there. However, every spare moment was spent with his family. They played ball in the yard, had cookouts, and even had a few memorable arguments (normally over his grandchildren - they could do no harm, leave them alone).
Pop could work circles around me. He always had a project to do, and he didn't stop until it was finished. When I was too tired to keep going, he kept moving forward. The man was 40 years older than me, and was stronger than I was. There were no shortcuts. If you were going to do a job halfway, don't bother doing it.
There was no violence in Pop. I look back at the pictures of him with my kids, and I cry (I have tears now and I'm not ashamed). He was their best friend. He would drive to my house 40 miles away to pick up my kids for lunch. He would later call to tell us the girls would be home the next day. They made plans to spend the night. The girls played in the dirt, helped him cut grass while riding on the mower, and they ate nothing but junk food. My children always came home spoiled.
When my wife's grandparents could no longer care for themselves 100%, my wife made the choice to relocate closer to them. We have a home on their land, 1/4 of a mile through the woods. We could see dementia setting in after a stroke, but you would never convince pop that he had a problem. He would just say he forgot things. He was at my house every single day. Sometimes he was there multiple times.
Pop took time with my girls. He helped my oldest as she practiced for hours for soccer. He would be the goalie, and defend a regulation sized goal. He would sit outside with my youngest as she shot archery. He would spend hours with my children. His life revolved around his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. No matter how tired, he was never too tired for the kids.
The kids decorated his Christmas tree each year. They made sure to showoff their Halloween costumes to him. And he never forgot a birthday.
My wife's grandparents own an Olympic size swimming pool. Pop refused to let anyone maintain it. It was his, and he was going to care for it. The same went for his property. No one was allowed to cut his grass (unless you were one of the great grandkids). Cutting the grass or cleaning the pool flipped a switch. You would be cussed at by a Sgt Major as you retreated. There were several times after my wife and I moved closer that Pop would cut my grass. He would see me in the yard, on the mower, and he would join in.
The pool has an interesting significance. Pop never learned to swim. He made sure the pool was clean though. He also made sure he was in the pool when the kids were in there, despite the fact that they may have to save him. He followed them around with an umbrella while they swam so they wouldn't be sunburned.
Pop's yard looked like Botanical Gardens. There were always flowers in bloom. At least twice a week he would bring over a fresh bouquet of flowers. He also brought money to give to my girls for whatever they wanted. Last night we spent a couple hours putting the change and other money my girls had into wrappers. There was at least 100lbs of quarters. I stopped counting the bills and change he crammed into their penny banks. All of the change and bills have been sorted. It will be deposited into their savings accounts tomorrow. They had no idea how much the miniscule amounts of money really grew to be.
Pop never dressed in a suit. He could care less about your opinion, and his main attire was blue Dickie pants, a white t shirt, and a blue Dickie jacket. We should have buried him in those clothes, but that was beyond my control.
It hurts to drive down my driveway. I can see Pop's house. His wife is now in a nursing home that she was promised to never inhabit. The lights are off, and the gates are closed. Even as I type this, his death doesn't feel real. My wife's dog sits on the porch and barks every night, waiting for Pop to turn his back porch lights on. I catch myself looking to see his silhouette at one of the windows as I idle down the drive in my loud car.
Speaking of dogs, I used to own a Shepherd. That dog was the meanest animal I had ever met. My daughter could pull his ears, lay on him, and generally abuse him. The dog obeyed my wife and I out of a ladder of dominance. That Shepherd guarded my house with every ounce of his being. No one was going to mess with my daughter. I found one of my deacons sitting on the hood of his truck one day. He stopped by to visit, and the dog jumped the back fence when he stepped on the porch. The hood of his truck was the quickest point of safety. This dog had a serious complex, and to be honest, he was dangerous. Pop never had an issue though. He would get out of his car, walk to the dog, talk to him, pet him, and all was good. I eventually had to give that dog to Pop. The Shepherd would jump the fence and run to the church I pastored. The problem is that the dog was protecting my daughter. He would stand at the door and not let anyone in the building.
In Pop's early days in the Army he would walk to the base. It was 18 miles one way. When he could drive, he picked up strangers. He fed everyone also. If a car was broke down on the highway, he made sure it was taken to his place and moved off of the road.
I could go on and on for hours. I haven't even scratched the surface of the memories I have. I just wish I could be half the man Pop was. This man lived life and set a legacy to be chased.
My wife's grandfather didn't know anything at all about being selfish. He had a servant's heart. He was a true gentleman, and a man I will always admire.
I'm actually sitting outside on my porch now. If he was alive, he would notice the light and come to check on things. Then he would tell me to take my sick butt to bed and rest. I halfway expect him to come strolling through the woods. I know it can't happen, but I can picture it.
Feel free to post your own stories.
Sent from my [trashcan S5] using the svtperformance.com mobile app