This morning I was thinking about when my dad died. Although we never had a close relationship, he treated Jeremy very well. Jeremy could be a little dickens and when grandpa would scold him he had a way of getting at grandpa's good side. Most everybody was scared of grandpa, but not him. He would toddle up to him and lay his head on his knee and say, "I wov you gampa." My dad's hand would drop to his head and he'd muss up his hair and say, "You little stinker you." Dad was the only father figure Jeremy had.

When dad would get down on his hands and knees to do push ups, Jeremy would crawl on his back. My dad would laugh so much he could hardly do his push ups, but then he would get it together and do his push ups with Jeremy on his back. When he did his sit ups Jeremy would hold his feet.

Dad would take him for a walk sometimes, most of which he really carried him on his shoulders, and they would go sit in the woods somewhere about two miles away and watch for deer and other wild animals. By the time they came home Jeremy was sound asleep.

Jeremy was 4 years old when his grandpa died and he didn't understand it at all. He asked me one day where he went. I said, "He went up to heaven." "How did he get up there, did he take a bus?" I told him the angels took him up there. "Is there a stairway to go up there, can we go up there and see him?" I told him we couldn't go up there but that it was like a butterfly coming out of its caccoon and flying off. He understood that, but he said, "I don't like it!" I told him I didn't like it either but that grandpa would be waiting for him when he came to join him. He said, "I hope it's real soon." He had to wait 29 years, but he finally got his wish.