I am constantly in awe at how quickly life can change.

Two years ago, I was working as a nanny in Belgium.  This week in 2007, the family I was living with had planned a skiing trip in the Alps.  I was so excited to go, and to mark off another item from my Lifetime List of Things to Do.  Two days before we were scheduled to leave for the Alps, however, I got a call from my sister saying that my grandpa was dying, and everyone back home had canceled their Spring Break plans.

Right away, I talked to my employers, and, though disappointed [I don’t think they understood how close-knit my family is], they said I would still have a job when I returned.  There was never really a question as to whether I would try to get to Mesa before he died.  I wasn’t sure if it would be possible, but luckily I arrived 20 hours before he slipped away.    I will never regret that choice.

It was an incredibly tender time, and I say that in all seriousness (because I’m not tender often, so I have to qualify the times when I really mean it; I mean it today).

You can read the solemn saga here,  if you’re so inclined.

To say that my grandpa was a good man would be an understatement, so I won’t say it.  Instead, I will say that of the handful of men who have affected my life for the better, my grandpa was among the most influential…

Dashing, wasn’t he?

It was because of my grandpa that I ever thought to look for callouses on boys’ hands.  I didn’t like dating boys who had soft, smooth hands; calloused palms indicated hard work, and that was important to me.

It was because of my grandpa that I almost became a farm girl.  (Seriously.)

It was because of him that I learned to love Arizona, in spite of myself.  He taught me to value family more than friends, and people more than stuff.

My grandpa didn’t believe in the stock market—he invested his money into real estate.  To this day, I am inclined to do the same {who am I kidding—I don’t have any money}.

My grandpa sure did love his grandkids.

When I was a little girl, my grandpa signed up all the older grandkids (I believe there were six of us) for a hunter’s safety course.  One night a week for several months, my grandpa picked us up, hauled us out to class, studied the lessons, took the final exam with us, and proudly patted us on the back when we all became certified gun-people.  (I’ve never actually hunted, and I don’t really condone it, but I didn’t know that at the time.  Anyway, it was sweet, and one of my favourite early memories of him.)  Almost always, he would stop by McDonald’s™ to treat us all to french fries on our way home.  He really liked treats.

I have never tasted a tomato—nor do I ever expect to—that rivaled the ones grown by my grandpa every summer.  His magic hands could turn any clod of dirt into earthen gold.

My grandpa’s favourite song was “I Am a Happy Wanderer,” but he didn’t travel much.

He used to tell me, “No boys like to be chased.”  He was right, and I did best to remember that.

The weekend I got engaged, he went into the hospital and basically stayed there until he died (they moved him back home for his last few days).  One night, a few weeks after I’d gotten engaged, I was staying with my grandpa (we took shifts as a family, staying with him in the hospital; I don’t think he spent a single waking hour alone in the hospital) and I made him sign a contract that he would stick around long enough to come to my reception.

(His penmanship was illegible on a good day.  In the hospital, attached to an oxygen supply?  Forget it.)

He signed, but on the condition that the reception be held in his backyard {I’d have had it no other way}.  He got right on it, delegating yard work that was to be done nearly a year in the future, so that his place would be in prime condition for the big day…

…I upheld my end of the bargain, and had the reception at his house.  I wish I could say that he made it.  But he died seven months too soon.  He was a man of his word, though, and I can’t imagine he’d like to break his promise.

I believe that he was there, in a sense: In spirit.

Has anyone changed your life to such an extent that you don’t even know what aspects of yourself are your own?

Would I have decided to value hard work, if my grandpa had been a different person?

Would I say “dadgummit,” if he hadn’t taught me how?

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