I believe that our extra special memories are kept in our heart and not our mind. I believe in powder blue tuxedos and old ranches and weird old guys (who are really just so full of love that they are sometimes hard to understand).  A bit over a year ago, my grandfather passed away, just days before his 86th birthday. I still remember his last Christmas like it was yesterday. It had been weeks since he had an actual coherent memory. He had even forgotten his own children and grandchildren. Seeing him like this killed me since it was his last few days, but he was still the same humorous, kind, and caring free spirit.

I was the first one at the house to help set up for dinner, he was wearing his favorite red and yellow flannel, the one I spent weeks wearing and sleeping in after his funeral. It smelled like him, like an ocean breeze and fresh pine. I held his hand as we talked and laughed about his old ranch and what it was like for him as a kid. He told me that “You knew you were almost home when you saw the telephone wires start to disappear.” We talked and laughed like this until the rest of the family arrived. My dad arrived at Christmas dinner late so no one really noticed when he came in (except for Papa that is). My dad and papa always had a special loving bond. My grandpa was always teasing and joking with my dad, he even had my dad’s high school prom picture on his mantle. He would always make fun of his powder blue “I-got-this-from-sears-an-hour-ago” tuxedo and say “Look frank, it’s you when you had hair!” As soon as my dad walked in that night my grandpa’s face lit up. “Frank!” he exclaimed. At that moment, it was as if time was frozen, the upbeat Christmas music stopped playing, and all of the conversations came to a halt. We all turned to my grandpa; our mouth’s forming into shocked little O’s. We were speechless.

Three days later my grandfather passed away. His personality may have started to fade in the last few days, but that could never define the man he was. He raised six beautiful children and was also a pilot in the U.S. Air force. Every moment of his life was filled with love. He was a loving husband and father, and an even more loving grandfather. He was also probably the favorite dad in the neighborhood. You could always find him sitting out on the driveway in his lawn chair waiting for someone to walk by and be willing to chat with him. You would probably also see him driving around with his combover flying out the window, hoping that one of his kids' friends would walk by and see him. He was always looking for an oppurtunity to embarass them.  Later in his life one of his favorite phrases to say to his grandkids was “who’s your favorite weird old guy?” Our response was always "you", and we always laughed no matter how old the joke was. He could certainly leave an impression on you. But that was just his personality. It was his memories of love and family that got him through his last few weeks with dementia, that made him remember my father, and that made him see his mother and father the day before he died, it was the special ones he kept in his heart because his mind had faltered. He was so full of love that he was practically made of it, and everyone around him couldn’t help but love him too.