Grandpa Griffin

My last post included two pictures each with four generations of my family. I’m glad my brother took the one with my Grandpa Griffin, because Grandpa went to be with the Lord while he slept on Saturday night.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I really believed this day would ever come. Grandpa was always a hard worker, and didn’t know how to quit. He retired before my older brother was born, but retirement didn’t suit him and he un-retired a year later to begin a new career spanning two more decades. Even when we visited as kids, he was up and out the door by dawn. I remember that in his free time, he loved to work with his hands. His masterpieces included (but were not limited to) the house where he and my grandmother lived, a hand-turned wooden lamp that he made for my parents, and a gliding rocking chair we used to play on in his living room.

In 1994, we almost lost him when he suffered a devastating stroke. The doctors did not know if he would live, let alone recover any normal function, but he surprised us. He worked hard at his rehabilitation and while he never quite made it back to 100%, he lived a much better life after his stroke than I would have thought possible. It was a joy afterwards to sit in his living room and throw a ball back and forth with him, knowing that this simple game was a small triumph for his once-strong hands.

Ten years later when my grandmother died, I was again worried that he would not be with us long. He loved her deeply and depended on her care following his stroke. Once again, he surprised us. I think he needed to prove to all of us that he could make it, and he did for five more years. During those five years he saw two of his grandchildren get married and was alive for the births of two great grandchildren. He met my son, who is named after him, on two occasions. I have memories of Easter and his 89th birthday that I will cherish, along with photos to share with Sam as he gets older.

I appreciate that his eyes were always full of life and the wheels were constantly turning. I remember the Rubik’s Cubes, wooden puzzles, and brain teasers he kept on the table next to his recliner and our shared excitement when we would solve one of them after hours of trial and error. His wit was also never lacking. Last week when my mom told him that his second great-grandchild was born with lots of red hair, he told her slyly, “I don’t care much for red hair.” When my mom, also a redhead, pointed out that she too had been born with red hair, he replied with a wink in his voice, “I didn’t care much for it then either.”

I read through Grandpa’s obituary several times this afternoon, still surprised at how much he lived in 89 years, yet profoundly saddened that such a full life could be summarized in less than 300 words. To those words I add all of these, as I remember a man with a sharp mind, skilled hands, unyielding determination, and a deep love and appreciation for his family.

We miss you Grandpa.