Dear Grandpa,

Well, its almost Christmas again. I really can’t believe that you have been gone this long. It seems such a short time ago that I remember hearing your gentle voice rise and fall with the words of the Christmas story. Every Christmas you would read it before we could even think about opening any gifts. And you delighted to read the story out of different gospels, quiz us on our Bible facts, and make sure that we were not missing the reason behind our celebration. The funny thing is that Dad was a much better reader, but you always did it. And we had to listen attentively. Not that you would have taken away our gifts if we didn’t, but you had that way of giving us the eye that said “now is not the time for horsing around, and you know it!” We always stopped… immediately!
I remember the smell of the fresh cedar tree in the big old farmhouse. The joy of stringing up lots of tinsel (we were never allowed to use that stuff at our house!) and seeing the bubble lights finally heat up enough to boil up and down. I even remember sneaking downstairs (and that surely wasn’t easy to do on that creaky old staircase) to sit and watch them bubble and glow in the dark, as the tinsel would sway in the draft from the window. I remember the days when Mom always gave you those ugly yellow work gloves. You know, the ones with the bright red cuffs. They always seemed like the biggest contradiction to your demeanor. All of your conservative colors, and then those bright yellow gloves! I suppose you didn’t mind though, seeing as she always stuffed them with fun candy or English walnuts.
But farther back in my memory, I remember those same ugly gloves, each grasping a huge grain bucket full of feed, with those big work boots never slowing. How you would let me shovel the feed into the buckets, even though it took me twice as long. How you let me carry half a bucket, even though it meant you would have to make more trips. You would effortlessly toss those feed buckets up and over into the cattle trough. For the first time in my life, I thought that I had met someone who was stronger than my dad. But strength goes both ways. Getting a spanking from you was awful. Not only did those hands of steel from years of hard farm work, construction, and milking cows land hard, but somehow, with your calm personality I was almost ashamed. I knew I really must have done something bad if you gave me a spanking. I think I cried from the pain of disappointing you more than the fact that it hurt, (and it did hurt!).
I am almost glad I didn’t get to go for Thanksgiving this year. Tromping through the timber looking for a scraggly cedar tree just isn’t the same without you. I think that’s when I miss you the most, or when I am walking through that musty old barn. Somehow the smell of that place seems intimately connected with you. It smells like hard work, old lumber, hay dust, and tractor grease… mmm, and I love that smell! Just like I like the smell of your truck, yeah, I still smile when I climb up into and charge down the road in it! I feel like a real country girl, that one that I always wanted to be when I looked at you, that country girl that could truly deserve to be your granddaughter. Though I don’t think it is something that I had to earn. You loved me just the way that I was, and you never asked me to be more than I was. Sometimes you made me think for myself by asking a really tough question, but you never looked down on me for not knowing the answer. And you loved me.
Grandma is spending Christmas with us this year. I know you would be worried about her being alone. I'll try and take care of her, like I know you always did. I'm going to miss you, but I know you are infinitely more happy where you are now. And in the presence of your Saviour, I'll bet you don't miss all of us one bit! That's okay, I don't mind. I'll see you soon! Still love you!
Hugs and Kisses, Your Granddaughter, ~Jo