There is something special about his generation. Whether it is the thrifty determination borne of the Great Depression, the steadfastness won in World War II, or the values and work-ethic the laid the foundation for the rest of us, it truly was the Greatest Generation. And he was one of the greatest of the Greatest Generation.
Gramps was the strong silent type, but the benevolence shining in his baby blues always left you feeling loved and protected in his presence. He was a big man and filled up a room, thanks to his German heritage, but his quiet patience, kindness and loyalty were his most shining characteristics. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, he made sure it counted.
What I remember most about Gramps is his hands. As a little girl his hands seemed huge, like he could carry me around in his pocket and hardly notice my weight. They were hands that were hardworking his entire life. Working on engines, managing his farmhouse, taking care of his children and grandchildren. They were hands that made his livelihood, hands that shaped things and fixed things and great hands to hold yours. Even after I was grown, even last week, Gramps’ hands still swallowed mine.
I am torn, because the world is a little darker place since he closed his eyes for the last time, without his goodness and strength. But I tell myself to remember all the lives he has touched and all the good he has done in his long life. For me, it’s a reminder to be the best that I can be, to live up to his legacy, to always strive toward integrity and strength, to make him proud as he watches over me.
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