Friday morning, July the 4th, 8:17 a.m. My mom called.
"We lost Grandpa last night."
"3:30. And I'm choosing to think he'll have the best seat for the fireworks."
Yep. That's for sure. And he was probably up there thinking how silly we all were for grieving for him. He was just that kind of guy. He always thought that no one should waste their time on him.
Growing up with Grandpa around was always an interesting experience. He was 15 years older than my Grandmother (see where I get it from?). No matter who was in the room, if one of the grandkids ended up crying, the oldest one in the room took the blame for it because they should have known better.
And you never had to wonder what he was thinking. He'd be sure to tell you. Can't tell you how many times we heard about which nurse might be a little heavier than the rest or the fact that he no longer had to worry about making it to the bathroom in time. Yep, he told it like it was. All of that was the Archie Bunker in him.
But he had a soft spot for us as well. My memories include ribbon candy and a contest at the Ag Heritage museum.
He might have been a little rough around the edges, but he'd admit those edges to you. I wish I had his strength.