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Warning: Schmaltzy content below. Very schmaltzy.

I don’t think about him often, but when I do it hits me like a brick. My chest tightens and it is hard to breathe normally. I miss gramps like no one else yet that I have had the honor to have in my life. I miss how he would say “come over here and give me some sugar” each and every time you saw him. I miss many of his unique southern expressions that are of a dying language like “hot damn” and “over yonder” and the definition of “supper” vs “dinner.”

I remember how he always used Irish Spring soap. How he drove around in his work truck with tools sliding all around in the back but, when he took Mimi out, it would be in the over-sized car that old people seem to prefer - with wide and extra squashy seats and lots of places to store a tissue box (tissues that Mimi would roll down the window and throw-out when she was done with one).

His pants were always baggy in the butt, his blue jeans practically sliding off. All the caps and hats he wore were certainly unique. He was always to be found somewhere out in the yard, in the house only rarely and in those rare instances in either the kitchen, in his green lazy boy or asleep (which was practically never - and always up by 5 to meet his friends at the McDonald’s for breakfast). His head of thick wiry hair. The twinkle in his eyes - especially when he was teasing someone. How he would chat up anyone and everyone he came across. How he let us sit by the wood burning stove in his workshop out back. How proud he was of his garden, but never bragged. How he would always do the cooking but let Mimi take the credit. How he steadfastly refused to admit there was anything outside of delta parish worth visiting. How he would hang birdfeeders in front of the windows and make sure you noticed when a bird came to one. How he would sometimes take his teeth out for you if you asked really nicely - and how he left his teeth in a drinking glass in the bathroom he used down the hall - preferring to let Mimi have the bathroom next to their room all to herself.

I miss lots of other less tangible things about him too - like the tone, texture and cadence of his voice. How he smelled like an old man, but not like mothballs or arthritis cream. How when you talked to him, he made you feel important and interesting.

I only knew him as a grandfather and the perspective is far different than that of a child or friend. I think years had a way of softening what may have been hard about him. He was a damn good grandfather. A damn good person. And he is missed.

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