On Friday, my grandfather passed away. He was eighty-three. When we went to see him earlier this month, we knew the time was limited. The touristy excursions were a chance for my dad and I to give my mom some time alone with him. Since Hamilton is such a small town, it was easy to pop in and out throughout the day.
My mom’s parents were divorced when she was very young. Grandpa remarried and lived in Hamilton for his entire life after the divorce. He and Sharon were married for more than fifty years, so clearly he found the perfect fit on his second go ’round with marriage.
We only saw him once or twice a year when he would visit us and when we would make the annual summer trip to Hamilton. At the end of each visit, he would always tear up when we all said goodbye. He was quiet and kind-hearted and until the end, always seemed so strong and full of life.
The picture at the top is from the 1950s: my grandpa after one of his baseball games holding my mom (left) and Aunt Connie (right) with my grandma in the background.
The second picture is my grandpa & Sharon, most likely from the 1960s.