Grandpas

My grandpa was named Chester also. He was born in 1892 and died in 1972 when I was 14.
My mom said he cheated at cards, but I think he was just that good. He bought me my first blue dress and ice cream cone. Both on the same day for my 1st birthday..we have super-8 movies to document it.
He was stuborn and loyal, fierce and generous.
My grandmother said he always made sure she had a blue dress. I was with her when she bought her last one…for my wedding…and then she told me to make sure that was the dress she was buried in. I did.

I have one living cantankerous grandfather, and one passed hermit grandfather, and dozens of stories about the both of them.

My hermit grandfather lived up the mountain from my parents when I was born. I had gastric reflux back in the days when they had no real treatment for that, and my screams echoed up to his cabin quite clearly.

One afternoon when I was only a few weeks old, he showed up at his daughter’s door (wearing one of his typical plaid wool work shirts), and just held out his arms for me, and told her to go take a nap.

He took me back to his little cabin, and fed me a bottle of just-squeezed, warm goat milk from the nanny goat he was watching for a friend.

He kept the goat a few months, and milked her twice a day for me, and I eventually stopped projectile vomiting, and stopped screaming, and we all got along well.

He never talked a great deal, but he was a handsome fellow, and would give a person the shirt off his back, or build them a house, or milk a goat for them. I get the red in my hair from him, my freckles from him, and my fondness for solitude and mountains from him. Not a bad legacy, that.

(He always smelled like fresh chopped wood and a tinge of pipe tobacco, and Ivory soap… When my mother made a wool crazy quilt for my son, after Grandpa had died, she left the pockets on, because that’s Col’s legacy–he’s a pocket-putter-inner like his great grandpa–and the whole blanket smelled like wood and tobacco and soap for quite some time!)

I never knew my paternal grandfather, but I clearly remember the time spent with my maternal grandfather. He used to always smoke a pipe and sit out on his porch in the evening. I still love the smell of tobacco as it reminds me of him. He had those horn rimmed glasses and always wore coveralls to work around the house in. He was loving and kind and referred to Happy Meals from McDonald’s as “Happy boxes”. I miss him. You are lucky to still have your grandpa around.

My Gpa is 92 also and has been given only 2 more months. His only kidney is shutting down. He is still with it though and entertains us with witty banter every time we visit. He has started telling me “I love you” a lot more lately and Im sure he realizes he is slipping away. I have been reflecting a lot on what to say…. how do tell someone you love goodbye? By the way, that picture of your Grandpa is beautiful. You are so talented… thanks for sharing it with us.

My granddad was a farmer and a manly man who only had daughters and granddaughters and loved us all unconditionally. When our moms were fed up with us they took us out to his farm. They would pull up beside whatever field he was plowing in and wait. As soon as he saw the car his big green John Deere would head over to the road. No questions asked he would climb down off the tractor, pick up whichever offensive kid needed a time out, and we would “plow” with him the rest of the day. He would share his hard candy with us and we would always fall asleep on the leadge behind the seat. we stayed at my grandparents house frequently. He always let us have his “shots” (needles removed) after his morning insulin shot and we would shoot water at each other. To this day I cannot smell scrambled eggs without thinking of mornings at his house. Thanks for giving me a reason to think about him today.

My grandpa died a few years ago. In February, 2005. I remember him dancing with his great grandchildren, my cousin’s daughters, at her wedding the previous November. He was in his eighties, had bad knees, but he let them take his hands and dance a song or two.

I went over to his house with my parents when I was in town that winter. We’d had dinner and for some reason he had tuned the television in the dining room to the Lifetime network. We’d discussed the fact that all those Lifetime movies had to do with women who did something bad to the men in their lives out of revenge for something the men did to them, but he left it on, anyway. Probably just because he forgot. Or didn’t care.

After dinner, my mom cleaned up and my dad went into the living room. I don’t know what happened to Mom, but eventually, it was me and Grandpa, watching Avalanche! on Lifetime, which was an odd movie because David Hasselhoff was a bad guy and it didn’t follow the usual Lifetime movie woman’s revenge kind of theme. Grandpa eventually fell asleep in his chair, and I found my parents both asleep themselves on the couch. I don’t know why I like that memory, watching a bad David Hasselhoff movie with Grandpa at his dining room table, but it makes me smile when I think of it.

This was my mother’s father. I didn’t know my father’s, who died well before I was born.

Love the topic! I lost my Grandpa (Papa) a year ago this month. He was 94. He always had the best stories and his laugh was infectious. I will never forget how he treated my Nana…she was the most beautiful, special lady in the room. I’m glad he’s finally with her again after years of pain and loneliness. Thanks for the reminder.

regrets: I hadn’t seen my grandfather in over 12 years. He passed away and I never got to say good-bye.

My mother’s father is a gruff, cranky man, who spent his whole life working in the oil industry (mostly in the field, so they relocated all over the world and spent months without my grandpa being home). He does not suffer fools at all, much less lightly, and has a sharp tongue that you do NOT want pointed at you. He tells great stories, though – and omg, does he have a ton of them – but you have to catch him in the right mood. He sings like an old-timey country western singer, and one of my favorite memories is of him tooling around the house, singing the Hank Williams song about the Indian maiden. He used to sing Burl Ives songs and the one about the hole in the bottom of the sea to me when I was little. To this day, I come damn close to bawling every time I hear “Mr. Froggy Went A-Courtin’.” I also loved when they would go to their best friends’ house, or the friends would come to my grandparents’ house, and play dominoes or cards or whatever. They were so much more entertaining than whatever I was supposed to be doing instead of listening to them. Unfortunately, my grandmother had a stroke several years ago and the game-playing slowed down, and now both of the friends have passed away. My grandpa seems sad and lonely and I wish like anything that there was a way to get those days back.

My dad’s non-biological dad, the one who actually raised him, lives in Australia, so I’ve only seen him three or four times, including the trip I made there when I was three. My favorite memory of him was during a visit he made to my dad’s house when I was about 22. My dad, who drinks Foster’s every once in a while but was last drunk about 30 years ago, sat outside with my grandpa in front of a bonfire they’d built in the back yard, drinking more Foster’s than I’ve ever seen in one place. They were telling stories about crazed rabbit colonies taking over farms and knocking down horses and I thought they’d both lost their minds and I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants – seriously. He also smashed the cans and threw them in the fire to see how long it would take for them to melt and told dirty jokes. The whole thing seemed oddly frat party-ish and COMPLETELY out of keeping with the way I normally think of my dad, but totally believable with my grandpa because, quite frankly, I didn’t know him well enough to know if it was out of character for him (I know now that it was totally IN character!).

My dad’s biological dad is a pianist who lives in California. He and my dad didn’t have a relationship until relatively recently. I’ve never met him, but we email periodically. I hope to visit this year, but you never know. He’s more than 80 years old, though, so it’s not like I have forever to get on the ball. He seems like a fascinating person, and I can’t wait to introduce him to my daughter.

Thanks for the post. Love the pictures!

You know, when I started this post, I knew a few would respond with heartwarming stories, but I had no idea how many would respond.

I have read each and every one and I see so much warmth, so much love, so much heartache, and in some cases, regret.

Overall it seems Grandpas just make a mark that runs deep–to our core.

I cannot tell you how fabulous it has been to read all your memories. It seems so trivial to say thanks, but really…thank you.

This is like Chicken Soup for the Soul, but better.

What a beautiful picture of your grandpa…wow! I grew up with grandpas but do not have one here with me anymore. But my favorite grandpa was my “Papa”. The warmest sweetest man ever to walk the Earth. He was a giver, gave the best hugs and was always whistling…I guess because he was truly a happy person. But I remember the exact day I knew he was “amazing”….It was about 6 months before he passed away and he told me that he wasn’t our “real” Papa. He told me that he married my grandma before all of us grandkids were born and came into the family when life was really bad…when my grandma needed someone to take on the responsibility of dad, husband and provider. She was all alone and needed someone. He came to the rescue and took care of my dad and all of the others…and everyone just left it at that. He was their dad. He was our Papa. He lived his life giving and taking care of children and grandchildren that were inherited through his marriage to my grandmother. He never lived his life in any way that would have made us think we weren’t the most important people in the world.

What a perfect picture, Heather. I’m sorry you’ve had a rough day (yesterday). ((((hugs)))) He looks like such an incredible man.

I never knew either of my real Grandpas. They both died before I was born. My Dad’s Mom remarried the year I was born. Everyone thought they were crazy… two old people getting married! They met… get this… at a Christian CLOWNING association! I kid you not! LOL (Don’t tell either of them that I’m not terribly fond of clowns myself.)

Thankfully the never dressed up as clowns in front of us! Oh, Grandpa would put on a wig or a red nose whenever we’d go over there but he wouldn’t act like a lunatic and smash his fingers on purpose with oversized rubber mallets or anything like that.

He did do lots of magic tricks though. I especially remember Herkimer. Herkimer was Grandpa’s magical hanky. He would fold it “just so” on the table and then he would stand and say, “Herkimer, if you’re there… give us a sign………” ((((silence filled the room)))) We would all just about give up entirely on Herkimer thinking that he was maybe perhaps all herked out. But then as we were about to get downtrodden, the hanky would suddenly leap off the table.

I still don’t know how he did it. Must have been some sort of….. MAGIC! (Or a little metal thing that snapped back into place after a minute…) But I think it was magic.

That and Grandpa had a glass eye. We never knew quite when he was really sleeping or just fake sleeping on our couch. He really liked waking up suddenly and telling us that he could see us with that glass eye always opened like that.

The 2 memories that stand out the most to me of my grandpa:

About 4 years ago his health started to go downhill. My husband and I were visiting and when I was leaving my grandfather hugged me and said “I love you baby”. He was never one to show affection or tell his feelings. That meant alot to me. I can still hear him saying it and I know the exact spot we weer standing when he said it and I can smell his scent if I think about it real hard.

The other one was almost a year ago. I was telling my mom on the phone (we live in MS, my grandparents and parents live in NY) about something funny my daughter had done. She went to my grandparent’s house after we talked and was telling them what I had told her. At this time my grandfather was not doing well, but when my mom told him the story about my daughter he gave a chuckle and even later was still chuckling about it. That night he had a stroke and went into a coma and never woke up. It made me happy that on one of his last days he found joy in something one of my children did, and that maybe that was the last time he laughed. He died 4 days later. He was a tough man to deal with, but he was so smart and always had a joke to tell.

Oh, and one more thing. This is amazing to me….as I said above he didn’t show his feelings all that much (at least that I saw, and I know my mom didn’t feel his love very much). I was actually on my way to NY for a vacation the day he went into a coma, so I was able to be there for his funeral. My uncle was cleaning the basement and going through papers and stuff and when he quit I started. I was moving some papers and found an envelope with my grandmother’s name on it in my grandfather’s handwriting. I ran upstairs and gave it to her. It was a short note telling her that he really had loved her all those years (54 years) and some other stuff I can’t remember. He had written it at least 3-4 years before he died (probably when his health was going downhill, we only knew that because he was unable to write with his illness)and had hidden it to be found after his death. I thought it was so sweet!!

My grandparents were awesome. I was at *both* of their 50th anniversary shindigs in varying awful early 90′s attire. :) They are inseparable, even in death. Here’s a semi-recent entry (http://www.xanga.com/LannaM/649885915/damn-hormones.html) on my Grandma and Papa – they were wheat farmers. My sister and I would get to go out in the field for a day and ride trucks and combines and all that good stuff – needing a shower when we got back because wheat chaff in the undies isn’t too comfy. Or we’d go bopping down to the shop to tell Papa he had a phone call if we couldn’t get him on the CB…

Other set, Grandma and Grandpa, had their own homestead for a while, their own lumber mill that Grandpa ran, and a garden that fed many of us over the years. I’d walk over to the lumber mill with Grandpa to have my eardrums cleared out, or one particular time (I even have a photo somewhere!) I was wearing my red with white fuzzy trim coat and Grandpa was letting me “drive” the tractor (aka I had my hands on the steering wheel between his). He taught me how to pick blueberries, and I was the best blueberry picker of all my uncles and cousins. ;)

wow, I just stumbled upon this site from another, and these pictures are just stunning. I was completely lost inthem for about 10 minutes.

Amazing work.

It has been almost 15 years since my grandfather died. I still miss him. He was not a gentle man and was not prone to demonstrations of affection. When we were young, we could always earn a bit of change by combing his hair. He would prolong the chore by reaching up and scratching his head just as you were smoothing down his thin white hair and you would have to start all over and he would cackle with glee. I was the youngest grandchild and one of only two girls so I had a bit of a different relationship with him than the rest. I would plop down in his lap for a cuddle not really understanding that wasn’t his way. As a teen, I combed his hair a bit less but told him that I loved him every time I saw him. His typical response was a gruff “I know”. It became our little inside joke. Once in a blue moon, he would tell me that he loved me too and I treasure those times. As he aged, it became necessary for him to enter a nursing home because my grandmother was no longer able to care for him at home. This was a bitter pill to swallow for this strong and fiercely independent man who built several homes from the ground up. He was frequently angry and at times violent to those around him. I continued to tell him that I loved him and often he would respond with only an angry wave of his hand. The last time that I saw him alive, he was particularly surly and before I left for the evening, I looked him in the eyes and told him once again that I loved him. He gave me the greatest gift he could have by looking at me and saying “I love you too”.

My dad’s dad died before I was born so I have no memory of him to offer up. Here is my story of my mom’s dad. I know it’s long enough that I should post it on my blog, but I have a baby sleeping on my shoulder & don’t have the patience to post it. Besides I’ve had to cut some out, so it makes sense to put the whole thing on my blog when I have 2 hands to type.

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If you had asked me before he passed, I would have said that the strongest memory I have of my grandpa was at my grandma’s wake. I saw him cry and it touched me deeply. I cried so hard at Grandma’s service (I was 15) that many of her friends came up to me to tell me a story or something that they remembered about her (or her telling them about me) and to give me a hug. But later in the afternoon I saw him crying and saying that he was going to have to learn to talk to his kids. My mom is the second of five children and I realized then that we had always called it “Grandma’s House” and were “going to visit Grandma June.” Even though he was there he was invisible to us. She worked very hard to insulate him from the trials and tribulations of our big clan because she felt that he had enough to worry about what with bringing in the money. At least that’s what I found out later. At the time I just thought that was how they had divvied things up.

In the years between Grandma’s passing and Grandpa getting sick he was a changed man. There are 11 of us cousins and us older 6 had a very different Grandpa than the younger 5. He would hug them, smile at them and let them sit on his knee. At their age we had always been told not to bother him. Having seen what I had seen and heard what I had heard, I was very impressed that he managed to do what he felt needed to be done. He showed my cousins the love that Grandma would have if she had been there. I was never jealous though; I may have gotten a more reserved Grandpa, but I had my own memories of times with Grandma that these kids would never have.

When Grandpa got sick it was August and he was convinced that he wouldn’t live to see his 81st birthday in December. The night before his birthday he called us into his room one by one to say goodbye. I don’t know what he said to anyone else, but he told me that he regretted not hugging us more when we were little kids. I had been there day in and day out, putting in my hospice shifts helping to take care of him just like my mom, aunts and uncles. So I told him that he must have done just fine otherwise we wouldn’t have all come to take care of him when he needed us. We hugged, we cried, and I left the room.

The next day we had a huge birthday party for him. A few weeks later we had a big Christmas celebration with him. And then a nice New Year’s Eve. He didn’t pass until January 14th, 17 years to the day after Grandma died. I consider that his last gift to us, a little sign that they are together. And as someone who can still bawl like a baby at how much she misses her grandma I think *that* was the sweetest thing that my grandpa ever did for me.