In Remembrance

Heather's maternal grandfather died today. I know some of you are thinking, "wow, that's an odd thing to post about". Considering the circumstances it is prolly a bit unusual but since it's my blog, I can post about the GDP of Sierra Leone if I like. Anyhoo, where was I? Yes, Heather's grandfather, George Washburn (or "Warshburn" as he said it in that quaint southern dialect that my grandmother would use to say "yaller" instead of yellow).

I always liked George. He was immediately accepting of me as a grandson-in-law, a fact which made me feel even more welcome. He was a bit on the reticent side, however. Oh, he would talk, but he never just strolled along with a conversation for the sheer sake of speaking. And, although I don't know if this was his intent, it made people stand up and listen when he did speak (I know I did).

You always hear or read about people having a twinkle in their eye or a mischievous grin. George possessed both. He always had this look like he was in on a joke I wouldn't get but was indescribably funny. This also had the effect of adding to his "grandfatherly" look. It was though he was sent over from central casting for the part of "obvious grandfather".

He was also a huge football fan. Every Christmas when we would travel to their house for the holidays, I could rest assured in the fact that I would always have a football game to watch. He would even announce the start of the game to everyone in the house, as though it was a curtain call for the last show of "Aida" or some such. Actually, watching football was when I saw him get the most talkative. Oh, he didn't start rambling or cursing the screen, but rather he would pass on an anecdote that would start something like this: "You know, they say that old boy is...". And if there was a Dallas Cowboys football game on, you can bet he was watching it.

Sadly, I never got to sit down and have a nice long chat with George about things he had done and seen in his life. This was something I always wanted to do. The man just exuded a sense of history. Oh, not like "he's old", just that you could tell he had seen and done things that I would never dream about. And the snippets I did learn in passing from others only whetted my appetite for more. I'm sure that if I could learn even a fraction of his life story, I would be even more in awe of the man than I am now.

So, why did I write this? (I'm sure you've asked yourself that question). A tribute, perhaps? Not really. No, it's something more. A remembering of those people who have influenced your life in some way. There is, in my mind, no greater eulogy than to remember daily those that have passed on, keeping their spirit alive by reflecting on them in the course of your daily life. Or, as Damon Runyon put it: "You can keep the things of bronze and stone and give me one man to remember me just once a year." Hopefully, I can in some small way do that here with this post. So as you finish reading this, think not of just George Washburn, but all of those people who have gone on before you. Keeping their memory alive keeps them alive.