There are some people who are always there; my papa was one of them. I don’t remember a holiday, birthday, or special celebration when he hasn’t been a part of it. Even at 96, he was still driving himself and showing up for family gatherings and meals.

The past few days don’t seem real. Memories have played through my mind like the old film projector Granny and Papa pulled out from time to time.

My brother and I, being the only grandchildren, spent lots of time in Jasper with my grandparents. As a kid I remember Papa sitting at the table with his cup of coffee and a newspaper, reading the news and checking the stock market. My grandma would be moving about in the kitchen cooking bran muffins for breakfast.

They let us take over the living room with stools and sheets where we designed immaculate pillow forts. Granny and Papa intentionally planted random items under the couch cushions for us to find; it was a treasure hunt every time we visited.

Throughout the years, they sent us musical cards with special “thinking of you” messages that my brother and I opened again and again. No matter where they went, they thought of us and let us know we mattered through little notes, trinkets, and messages.

At their house, the memories abound. Porch sitting. Bird and squirrel watching. Listening for trains. Percolator filled with coffee. Chocolate chip cookies. Chocolate milk. Pockets of soft peppermints. The lingering smell of Unga balm. Gunsmoke. Afternoon naps. Funny songs. Humorous poems. Random backbones on display. Granny Sapp and her Maalox spittoon bottle, cheeseballs, false teeth, and candy. Sewing machine noises. And piped frosting flowers resting on every surface.

Once they retired, my grandparents traveled. They bought a camper and pulled it with their conversion van until they upgraded to the expedition. They spent summers in West Virginia and took several trips out west, including one that involved two surly teenagers named Christy and Clay. From this side of things, I realize what a big commitment that was and how patient they must have actually been.

Once the great grands came along, their traveling days were over, but they still did their best to accommodate my boys. Papa filled them with cookies and milk, and Granny rocked and napped with them when their energy waned. My boys always looked forward to sitting on the porch, watching the birds and squirrels, and waiting on the train. And I’m still not sure how Thomas the Train won out over Gunsmoke, but it did every time the boys were there.

Over the years, I’ve often thought about the changes Papa witnessed during his lifetime. As a kid he lived without television, air conditioning, and indoor plumbing. Cigarettes, chewing tobacco, and moonshine were as common as soda is today. Milking cows and gas station attendant were jobs he held from an early age.

He experienced the evolution of vehicles from open top and slow, the steel framed giants of the forties and fifties, to the lightweight electronically controlled models of today. Papa remembered when there were no phones in homes, much less in our pockets and he experienced the evolution of radio, computers, internet, and television.

He was a military man who traveled the world and made it fun for his family no matter the assignment. He instilled in my mom and aunt the joy of adventure and the importance of the journey. So many magical stories came out of their childhood and Papa was always at the heart of them.

A natural encourager, Papa always pushed his kids, grandkids, and great grandkids to become the best versions of themselves. He talked to us about the importance of obtaining an education, saving as much money as possible along the way, and making good choices personally and professionally. When any of us reached a milestone in our career or personal life, he showed genuine enthusiasm. We always knew he’d want to hear about it, and his affirmation reminded us to keep striving.

It’s been hard for him these last three years without Granny. They were always a team. He cared for her so tenderly, sitting with her every day at the nursing home for hours, helping her with meals and anything else she needed. Both of them kept their minds and when Granny died, Papa was pretty lonely. Thankfully Carol entered the picture and helped with the lonely part and gave Papa someone to talk to and spend time with. It added pep to his step, and I’m convinced, life to his years.

There’s no way I can fit ninety-six years into the words of this page, but I can say that Papa’s absence will leave a tremendous hole in all our lives. Always steady. Always there. Always encouraging. Always loving. Even at ninety-six, he’s still gone too soon.

I’m so grateful, proud, and honored to be his granddaughter. May we all live in a way that would honor his memory and make him proud. We love you, Papa. And it’s not goodbye, it’s simply see you later.