Saturday, March 22, 2008

Grandpa's Birthday

This is the first year that Grandpa is not here for his birthday. He passed away last year at the ripe old age of 93. I miss him terribly. He was a quiet man, who did not show a lot of emotion, but I especially miss him because he brightened my day with emails for the last ten years. He fondly called me "Kid" and we talked about genealogy, telling me many interesting stories from our past.

Sometimes he would just write about the weather or what activity was on the day’s agenda. And he always added an animated smiley face to correspond with how he was feeling that particular day. On the day that he entered the hospital last year, just a few weeks before his death, he added a "sick" little smiley guy who stuck out his tongue and frowned.

"GP", as he always signed his notes, was fortunate enough to live a very long, healthy and pain free life. He was rarely ill up until the few weeks before his passing. The picture above was taken in October of 2005, when I traveled out to spend a lovely weekend with him. At the age of 91, he had more energy than I. It was a gorgeous, crisp fall day. He drove me around the countryside, showing me all the historic spots of my roots and even spryly hiked me through several cemeteries. It was a day that I will cherish always.

Happy Birthday, GP.


  1. So great that you had your grandpa as long as you did. grandparents and grandchildren really do have so much to give to each other.
    I remember all four of mine though they all died before I was 10.
    Have a wonderful weekend.

  2. What a wonderful picture and such lovely memories. Is that your grandfather with you in the second picture? Happy Birthday GP!

  3. Yes, that's me with GP Christmas 1960 with my new roller skates! He always reminded me of Groucho Marx, not personality wise, but looks and mannerisms...the way he tilted his head down to the right and looked up out of the corners of his eyes. He didn't do the funny walk or sing "Hello I Must be Going" though! ;)


Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)