Tonight on facebook I saw this updated profile pic of my cousin Rachel, with our grandpa:

... and it made me so sad.
I thought I was done with all the tears. But I guess not. So now here I am, on a random night, sitting here crying because of this picture. The sad thing is that I so vividly remember kissing him at Thanksgiving, back when we had no idea anything was wrong. He seemed so strong and sure of himself, and - as always - so happy to have us around. I can almost still feel that moment, bending in to say goodbye and reaching out to give him a hug and kiss.
I will always miss him ... his proud speeches at holidays with his family gathered around, his humor (sometimes self-deprecating, like when he sang his line from
The Twelve Days of Christmas - "five golden rings"- so off key, just to make us laugh!), his love of playing cribbage, the bird feeders that surrounded his yard, his hard work that resulted in tasty vegetables, beautiful gardens, and welded football poles and clothesline poles and everything in between. And as was often said in the days around his funeral, "he could fix just about everything ... except balloons and coffee cups." I could explain the inside jokes there, but maybe they're better off being inside jokes.
I miss him more than I ever thought I would (if I really thought about it before). I've always loved him, sure, but with his death I find myself thinking about how I probably didn't appreciate his presence in our lives enough. Someone like Grandpa is just always
there, always a part of your family's history and fabric, events and trials and celebrations. He was always the one who could fix stuff or help out, was at orchestra concerts and graduations and our wedding, as well as at all the everyday stuff ... getting together for dinner or stopping in for coffee after church on Sunday, coming over on hot summer days to swim in our pool or barbecue dinner.
Probably the biggest shocker for me is realizing how much I am like him. I can't believe I never tallied up all the interests I shared with him, nor that I never spent time sharing those interests with him. We both love gardening, and enjoy bird watching and hunting and family. And like him, and like my own father, I am quite fond of cribbage. Growing up, I thought I was so unlike my grandparents. They were older and more traditional, conservative in some ways. And very Catholic, which I definitely was not. I saw all the ways we would disagree on political issues, and made a lot of assumptions about things I
thought we would differ on. I was so busy seeing the ways we were different that I didn't recognize all the ways we were similar.
In your absence, Grandpa, I will carry on your interest in many of the things you loved most in life. I know I'm not Catholic and can't carry that forward, but there are so many other things we could have shared. And I will try to learn to look for similarities instead of differences in those around me.