So Long, Grandfather

My maternal grandfather passed away last night.

While I am saddened by this, I am utterly unsurprised.

Gramps was 91, and had been failing ever since spring. He last looked like himself eighty-one days ago.

Gramps went to sea when he was very young, served in the Navy through the Second World War and afterward, and raised my mother and all of her siblings along with Granny. He knew how to fix almost anything. He was working on the roof of his house when he was over eighty years old.

I am descended from one tough, tough, tough, IRON-tough old man.

I have no regrets about my relationship with my Gramps.

He has been a part of my life since well before I was born, and I don't see how that's going to change now. What he taught me and what he gave me will always be with me. If I'm supremely lucky, I'll be able to pass some of it along, and if I really outdo myself, I'll be half as capable as he was by the time I die.

He gave me a pocketknife... a little one... that I had on me today, before I'd heard. But I've been thinking of him.

He taught me to drive a boat. Some of the highest praise I've ever received in my life was when I heard from someone else that he thought I'd brought it into shore properly (which is to say, jumping over the side and hauling the bowline in with me). He taught me to drive his old Toro tractor. He drove his dog-infested RV back and forth across the country year after year, getting the hell out of Indiana for the winter.

He made sure I always had an air conditioner in working order when I stayed at the farm.

He was one of the few people I could shut up around, simply because I knew he didn't need me to say a damned thing.

I'll miss you, old man.

But I also know you hated being fussed over, and you'd be downright irritable if I moped around because of you, so I'll carry on as I always have.

Thanks for all you taught me.
Thanks for all you gave me.

Godspeed.