My grandpa died on Tuesday. It’s difficult to get used to the fact that someone who has been a big part of your life is gone, especially when you’re far away. It doesn’t seem quite real. It helps to talk on the phone with family, but it’s not the same as being there.
The worst thing about living far away from home long-term is not being able to be there for important events. We were lucky to be able to go home this summer for our siblings’ weddings. And to see Grandpa then.
The funeral will be held on Saturday morning in South Dakota. He was 89, and had Alzheimer’s, so I guess it was his time to go. It wasn’t a surprise, but it’s still hard. So as the family gathers in South Dakota to say goodbye, I say goodbye here by replaying memories of him in my mind. The jokes he told at family gatherings. The stick of gum he always had in his shirt pocket for me. Riding with him in his red pickup to “check the crops,” or in the tractor as he made rounds in the field. Watching him shoot pool in the basement, with my cousins and siblings, leaning as close as we could to the action without getting our fingers in the way of the balls. Holding tight to him on the back of his motorcycle, cruising the country roads.
Laura
