About a week ago, a man I loved passed away.
He was not technically family.
He was the step-grandfather to my cousin. But that never mattered.
I called him Grandpa, he called me, “tweetheart” and we loved each other.
He was solid.
He walked with a hitch in his step, had one squinty eye, used to race horses, spoke fluent spanish, was a man’s man.
But he was as soft as anyone I’ve ever met.
And best of all.
He was overflowing with love.
He had this tenderness to his wife, our Nonie, that was palpable.
His love and affection for her was simply unparalleled.
In fact, in the days following his passing, the most common memories mentioned are about how sweet he was with his wife. How we all hope to have a relationship like theirs. How blessed we were to see an older couple still hold hands. Still love each other.
What a beautiful legacy to have.
What a perfect way to live your life.
Here was a man, who loved.
And I loved him.
I will miss my Grandpa Dick, but I am so happy to know that he is back with his Dorothy.
No longer limping.
Running with the horses.
When someone you love becomes a memory, those memories become precious.
Grandpa Dick, my memories of you are all about love.
Who could ask for more.