Grandpa

My Grandpa passed away yesterday.

 Life will never be the same.

I can’t imagine never hearing his voice again. Never wrapping my arms around his big chest for one of his impossibly strong hugs again. Never looking into his eyes again and seeing how much he loves me. Never seeing him surrounded by his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren again. Never being offered a ride to the Keg in one of his Lincolns for a pine float again. Never slapping his giant, leathery hand in a high five again and saying “I like Grandpa best”. Never hearing him say “By Golly” again or “Whoopdeedoo for my Subaru”. Never hearing him say that none of us would be here if it weren’t for him. Never watching him talk to my dad again. Never hearing his chuckle again as he tells a story about his latest escapade.

He was strong willed, unique, determined, stubborn and invincible.

Once his mind was made up about something there was no use arguing.

Ray always got his way.

 No physical ailment was allowed to get the best of him and no doctor was allowed near him if he could help it. Cataracts and macular degeneration couldn’t stop him from driving down to the cafe for a cup of coffee or out to the farm to move his cars and machinery around. Deafness gave him an excuse to hear what he wanted to hear and a limp was ignored, but played up if he could use it to his advantage.

I see his reflection in my son, Jackson Raymond every day. When Jackson’s preschool teacher said that he “leers in her face” when she is disciplining him, I know the exact look he is giving her. It’s the “you can’t tell me what to do” look that I have seen on Grandpa’s face so many times.

My memories of Grandpa are happy and include sunny days, combines, Heidingers, bringing lunch to him in the field with Grandma when I was small, riding down gravel roads in old Red and old Yellow, going to the lake, the purple speedboat, rides in the pontoon, visiting Grandpa and Grandma in Arizona, Grandpa and Grandma staying with us when we lived in Arizona, Christmas at the house on the hill when I was little and then at the house in town when I was older, the blue Lincoln, lots and lots of coffee, countless stories, hearing his words of wisdom about driving, picking him and Grandma up at the lake for her doctor appointments the first year Seth and I were married, and the ever present twinkle in his eye that said he was up to something.

I never doubted his love for a second.

He meant the world to me.

(photo taken by my cousin Libby)