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Remembering Grandpa

Grave stone
Grandpa Slack

Part of yesterday's adventures involved weeding the grave site for the paternal side of my family in Plymouth, IN. Grandma has done that in the past, but just needs help now with things like that.

So... off to Plymouth.

The kids helped a little bit with pulling out dead leaves and yanking grass from where it didn't belong, but then they wandered off and started looking at all the grave stones while I worked.

Even though I know Grandpa's soul is not in the ground where I was working, it felt so good to spruce up his final resting place, as well as those of my great grandparents and some other family members on that side. Maybe it was one way to show Grandpa I care about him.

Just writing this is hard. Memories are flooding back in my mind, and I miss him terribly.

He loved his grandkids. We always thought he was made of money because his car would stall at every Dairy Queen we passed, and we'd have a treat--usually a Dilly bar.

Whenever he was frustrated with something, he would say, "Oh, for crying out loud!" That's the worst he ever said besides calling a deserving person a jerk.

He was an incredibly intelligent person throughout his life, but Parkinson's disease eventually encroached on his ability to express himself as he wished. I used to sit with him trying to have a conversation, but he couldn't always put the right words to his thoughts.

I know Kris would have loved him. Grandpa would have loved to see his great grandchildren. He'd probably still try to catch them with his cane as he did with us when we were kids.

It's been almost 26 years since he died. I'm bawling my eyes out right now as I type. Emotions stay dormant for a time, then come flooding back as if he died just yesterday.

My maternal grandparents are just as alive in my mind, too. I had so many good times with them as a young adult when I could just run down to Indianapolis as often as I wished to see them. Those good times are on top of the many good memories of growing up around them.

My brother, Mark, reminds me so much of Grandpa Walton, my mom's dad. He's as ingenious as Grandpa was.

I took a picture of my mom yesterday as we were on the boat ride at the lake, and looking at it later, my first thought was of how much she looks like her mom.

I wish I could have another day with all my grandparents.

I think I'll go get a Dilly bar today.


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