A Tribute to Grampy

My wonderful, loving, patient, loyal, smart, compassionate Grampy and me.

This morning, I awoke to the news that my Grampy had passed away at 91 years of age. It was exactly four months ago today that his wife and my Grammy passed away at 90. I am heartbroken and will miss him dearly, and watching him the past five weeks struggle after suffering a stroke were some of the hardest times in my life. But, life is too short to dwell on the trials, so for a moment, I want to reflect on my times with him and sing the praises of the best example of a servant that I have ever come across.

Grampy served in the military for many years which is where he met one tough cookie - my grandmother, Ann/Grammy. To read about what a character she was, click here. He was the most loyal and patient husband to her, and quite honestly, she didn't make that an easy task. As she aged and suffered with hearing loss, dementia, and macular degeneration, Grampy never wavered. He simply spoke louder, reminded her of the important things, and brought her a magnifying glass. He loved her for who she was - even when it became a challenge.

Grampy had an incredible sense of humor. My earliest memories of Grampy are of our bantering, which was a pretty common occurrence when he visited. For whatever reason, his nose was always a shade redder than the rest of his face, and I used to love calling him Rudolph, just to rile him up. I often liked to be sassy and playful with him and he would always reply with, "To the moon, Alice! To the moon!" from the Honeymooners, all with a big smile on his face. I'll never forget the phone conversation we had when I got engaged. He told me, first of all, that he hadn't had a great morning because the nursery had been out of his caladium bulbs, and he "really needed some good news today." A little while later, he asked what my new last name would be, and I told him - Ezell. He asked for the spelling, and when I got to the Z he said, "Z as in zebra?!?" as if that was just an appalling letter. I still smile every time I spell my last name for somebody...especially when I get to the Z.

Growing up, they made two annual trips to Dallas - one during the spring or summer and always a long (10-days or so) trip at Christmas. This included a meticulously planned three-day journey in their light blue Lincoln Towncar from their home in Granger, Indiana, to our home in Dallas. (Grammy was a heavy smoker, and she refused to fly because she wouldn't be able to indulge in her habit. Grampy obliged her by driving for three solid days instead...patience and understanding at its finest.) 

Grampy was a creature of habit. On a typical day during his visits, he came out of his room in my parents' house wearing his oversized bifocals, long flannel pajamas, and a bath robe with his hair quite disheveled and always offered a robust, "Good morning!" as he poured his cereal and cut his banana. He would sit at the kitchen table and eat first, not quite ready for the morning newspaper. After his cereal, he would microwave himself a cup of decaf coffee and read the newspaper before getting dressed. Lunch was always the same - a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wheat, chips, and a caffeine free Diet Coke. He had a huge sweet tooth (must be genetic) and usually ended his day with a big bowl of ice cream...Rocky Road, if he was doing the choosing. He always had his weekly "honey-do's" that he did for Grammy - the grocery store, the bank, taking her to her hairdresser. When he was visiting us, he loved to go anywhere we were going...the mall to Christmas shop, the pet store to pick out dog toys, or even just joining us on a trip to the grocery store. He just wanted to spend time with us when he was in town, and he made every second count.

Grampy, I will always remember your sweet laugh and smile, the way you crossed your arms over your strong chest when you sat, and your big bear hugs. I will always remember the excitement in your voice when we called and the sadness I felt when your trips to Dallas were over. I will always remember the way you drove away, waving out the window of your Towncar, watching us in the rear view mirror until you could see us no longer. But most of all, Grampy, I will always remember the way you so fiercely loved your country, your family, and me. I will never forget you, and I am comforted to know that I will one day see you again. There is no doubt in my mind that today, an angel got his wings.