Farewell to my Grandfather

What can I say about the man? He was a southern gentleman, true.  He taught me the value of showing up to work on time, also true.  He made me enjoy the smell of pipe tobacco, true as well.  I'll always remember walking into the Pipe Shop with him sitting in those dark brown swivel chairs around the U-shaped bar with jars of fresh tobacco, lids resting atop the aromatic tobacco leaves.  He'd look up from his newspaper, his pipe clenched between his teeth as smoke wafted out of his nostrils and from his mouth.  He'd smile at me and say:  "Well hello there, young man."  

I wish I would have taken more time to get to know him.  He had a plethora of stories to tell from his childhood, his Navy days, his time in New Orleans and even his fishing trips to Canada.  But I was younger then, impatient.  I wanted to experience my own adventures not listen to other people regale me with their own.  I'm still like that in many ways, I guess.

His funeral was full of ceremony and tears.  I heard the songs that reverberated from the electronic speakers.  Hymnals that I wasn't sure Grandpa even enjoyed but figured my mother probably knew he did.  I jumped nearly out of my seat when the Honor Guard fired off the first shot of the 21 gun salute and I wept bittersweet tears when that Naval officer dressed in white ceremonial garb handed my mother the folded Stars and Stripes.  And I thought, "Now, this is the way to be remembered."

I was sad to say farewell to my grandfather, the last of all of my grandparents.  But I also realized that he was with my grandmother now.  I'm pretty sure she called him home because the night before he passed away, he asked my mother if he could go.  And she said yes.  So while it's sad to say goodbye, I know it's only for now.  So, Grandpa, until we meet again...