Grampa Jim

My maternal grandfather died this morning, peacefully in his sleep. He was in the end stages of Alzheimer's and I am grateful that he was able to die at home. Through the care of my mother (his second daughter) and my aunt, he was home until his passing.

No one who knew him would describe him as kind or generous or warm or loving, quite the opposite, actually. Kind of an s.o.b., many would say. But I know that he loved his family and did the best he could at loving us all.

I remember him as a strong, tall, handsome man with a thick head of grey hair swept back from his forehead. Dressed in flannel shirts and jeans and boots, with a pair of pliers always hanging on his belt and a pocket-knife in his pocket to cut the strings -snap!-on the bales of hay. He spent many hours in the workshop at the upper barn. He lost a couple of the ends of his fingers and the nails curved all the way over the tips- I liked to rub them. We kids worked in the barn with him, feeding the cows hay and grain with molasses poured over the top, filling water buckets. I still love the smell of cows and hay and the barn. I loved waking up to the sound of the cows lowing in the morning after staying overnight. Jumping into my grandparents bed after waking, grama in her pajamas, grampa in pj pants and a white t-shirt. We sipped russian-tea while sitting on their bed. Ju-ju bees always in a bowl in the headboard, turning hard and stale, perfect little sweets to pocket and suck on throughout the day. Homemade oatmeal cookies with raisins- his favorite cookie- I made them for him many times. His birthday was June 21, the summer equinox and 2 days before my own birthday. We had many joint celebrations with me sitting on his lap helping him blow out the candles on our cake. I can't remember his favorite kind of cake. Was it angel food with 7 minute-frosting and dark chocolate drizzled over?

I loved him and will miss him. He has been gone a long time- a shell of the strong man he once was. I am glad he is free now. I look into my children's blue eyes and see a part of him. I love my whole rambling family beyond measure- descendants of James Whitmore Gilbert. Rest in peace now, Grampa Jim.