Five years

This is my favorite picture of my maternal grandparents. Papaw was on leave from the navy, and had just begun dating my grandmother. Yep, that’s her in the fabulous striped skirt. Check out her smile–she’s looks positively giddy. I think Papaw was quite the smooth-talker. (They later eloped—German/Catholic and Southern Baptist was a match that didn’t thrill anyone… until they were happily married for some 40 years.)

My grandmother died when I was 12. I remember hanging laundry on the line with her, laughing over the antics of her dog, Honey, and hugs. Lots of hugs. She had very red hair (think Deborah Kerr… simply everyone had red hair, natural or not) and brilliantly blue eyes.

Papaw died five years ago today. He would have loved hearing about all of the things I’ve been up to, learning that I’m finally in school for a “marketable skill”, he’d have approved of my Mr. Wonderful, he’d have been proud of me. He was  proud of me. I miss him. A lot. He taught me the importance of balancing a budget, how to check my tires, and how to tell if a guy really likes you. He is missed. Constantly and consistently. We should have had another decade or so. He should have known his great-grand kids. Sometimes life sucks. And death definitely does. 

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