Rest in Peace

My cousin and I were talking this weekend about how most people think of grandfathers as the the sweet old man passing out Werther's originals, but our grandfather was the total opposite. Our grandfather was a gruff old man always ready with an insult for just about anybody that walked in through the door. He saw everything in black and white and made no apologies for anything he ever said or did, no matter how horribly offensive it might be. He died this past Wednesday at the age of 87.

Boyce Brown was a decorated World War II veteran. He fought with the US Army in the second wave on Omaha Beach in Normandy and the Battle of the Bulge. He was the kind of man that lied about his age to join the Army when he was just 15 (as I remember his story).
The kind of man that drove his motorcycle through the church doors to announce his return from the war. The kind of man that always had a story to tell. Maybe the disappointments he received in childhood and the devastation he witnessed during war times hardened him into the man that he became. As I child, I just remember that he always seemed so mad all the time, and he was mean as a snake.

The older I got the less time I spent with him. I only saw him a handful of times over the past 10 years. Maybe it was his failing health or his old age, but his demeanor had softened over the past few years. He wasn't as mean to me and he was even complimentary of my child. I'm racking my brain, and I don't believe that Ian ever even met him. I only took Mason over a couple of times. I wasn't close to him at all, but, oddly enough, I'm taking his death much harder than I ever thought I would. Maybe it's the guilt.