Yesterday was the 18th anniversary of Grandpa Joe's death. It struck me that I had now lived more than a half life since that day my senior year in high school, three weeks before I turned 18. It is amazing at how that day can feel like yesterday, and how it can feel like such a lifetime ago. I wrote this tribute two years ago. And after my workout, I did go to McDonald's to have a quarter pounder with cheese as a nod to him.
I will always be grateful and fondly remember how he came up north with us every summer. He was a good buffer for those car trips with three bickering children. Later he brought Blackie, the car sick doggie. Oh, memories. He loved the outdoors, hitting the golf balls around and then looking for his much sought after morel mushrooms. Gosh, he knew everything about gardening; perhaps he will channel some of that spirit toward me as I embark on taking care of our little garden patch in front of the house. It is hard to recall his voice after so many years. Though I do hear echoes in his little namesake of a great-grandson. I am sure we will tell a lot about Grandpa Joe to Joey in the years ahead. Love you, grandpa Joe.
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