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Grandpa Whitehair

Yesterday, my last remaining grandfather died.

He had a stroke and passed away later in the hospital. This happened during all the frantic efforts of his sons and daughters making quick arrangements to fly out to Florida. My parents are going out there later this week for the funeral.

Next summer, we were thinking about taking another family trip to the Orlando area and spend some time with him and Grandma Donna. I also just had a conversation with my dad about grandpa the other day.

Fishing. Pontoon boating. Sitting at the bar and watching him cook the fish. Throwing me in the swimming pool. Eating the fish. Cursing! His place in Michigan was an adventure every time. And that white hair. That hair was always white for as long as I can remember. Grandpa Whitehair (of sometimes Whitehead). I have many fond memories of my grandpa.

It’s kinda surreal that I’ve been spending extra time with my dad lately and that Father’s Day wasn’t that long ago. I was thinking about including a photo in this entry and I decided to use this one. It’s a photo of my dad and his dad, looking out on Saguaro Lake, right before our excursion on the Desert Belle in March 2006. The rest of the photos are here.

Though you can’t see their faces, I know they both had calm smiles and sincere eyes. That is a memory I want to remember.

I wish I could walk through this photo and give them both a hug. I’ll have to settle for hugging my dad. That sounds nice.