Ray E. Tucker passed away on February 22, 2006. I think of him every day.
Dear Grandpa,
Today I made coffee in the white coffee mug with the flag pattern that you bought at the PX almost ten years ago, and I thought of you. I also thought of you when I added creamer to my coffee. I could practically hear you say, "Katie, you've adulterated a perfectly good cup of coffee with that milk." I remember you telling me about your first cup of coffee on the train to Parris Island for your Marine boot camp, and how much you loved it after being awake and exhausted for hours.
You were a Christian in the truest sense of the word. You thought that God loved people, and that people were basically good, and that it was our duty to love and respect those we come into contact with. You lived this despite the horrors you saw on Iwo Jima and in Korea, and lived your life in service to your country, your family and God. You were such a gentleman, always, to those that know you. Neighbors at the Bay still remark on what a fine gentleman you were, and I couldn't agree more.
Now, Grandpa, we both know that you also weren't perfect. I used to get so mad when I'd mow your yard for two hours and you'd come out and point out the 1 foot area that I missed and make me remow it. Or when I had to surreptitiously sort the mounds of mail you received to separate the bills from the junk mail and you'd yell at me, though we eventually came to an unspoken agreement, that as long as you weren't in the room when I sorted it, you'd accept the much reduced pile as the mail you needed. Or when I didn't wash the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher at the house in town, and you'd make me redo them.
But now, those annoyances make you still real to me. I cherish those small moments, the annoyances, or little laughs, or grocery trips, that we had that connected us. I remember when I told you I had to put Penny down, and I was so afraid you'd be mad, but you looked at me with such love and said, "Katie, you do what you can." And I knew you meant it, and understood, and loved me.
I remember when, after Grandma died, I came to visit and found you over the newspaper, and you looked up and said, "I keep thinking she is still here, and I call out to her to read her something from the paper, and I remember she's gone." I thought that you two knew such love, and that that was such a blessing, and that I was so lucky to be a part of this family thread filled with love.
Most of all, I remember walking the beach at the Bay with you, as a child, when I thought you'd dug out the slough for me alone, and as an adult, when you reminisced about your first marriage, and your career, or we talked about our family history, and we laughed as we looked for shark's teeth, and I told you about my boy troubles, or work, and we just enjoyed the Bay.
You gave me so much love and joy and I learned so much from you. I miss you, but I'm mostly so grateful to have had you in my life, Grandpa. I know you didn't believe in an afterlife, but I also know that you live on in the memories of your family, and we'll never forget you.
Thanks for everything, Opa. Tonight, I'll listen to Satin Doll and Moon River, and think of you, and smile.
Love,
Katie
Dear Grandpa,
Today I made coffee in the white coffee mug with the flag pattern that you bought at the PX almost ten years ago, and I thought of you. I also thought of you when I added creamer to my coffee. I could practically hear you say, "Katie, you've adulterated a perfectly good cup of coffee with that milk." I remember you telling me about your first cup of coffee on the train to Parris Island for your Marine boot camp, and how much you loved it after being awake and exhausted for hours.
You were a Christian in the truest sense of the word. You thought that God loved people, and that people were basically good, and that it was our duty to love and respect those we come into contact with. You lived this despite the horrors you saw on Iwo Jima and in Korea, and lived your life in service to your country, your family and God. You were such a gentleman, always, to those that know you. Neighbors at the Bay still remark on what a fine gentleman you were, and I couldn't agree more.
Now, Grandpa, we both know that you also weren't perfect. I used to get so mad when I'd mow your yard for two hours and you'd come out and point out the 1 foot area that I missed and make me remow it. Or when I had to surreptitiously sort the mounds of mail you received to separate the bills from the junk mail and you'd yell at me, though we eventually came to an unspoken agreement, that as long as you weren't in the room when I sorted it, you'd accept the much reduced pile as the mail you needed. Or when I didn't wash the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher at the house in town, and you'd make me redo them.
But now, those annoyances make you still real to me. I cherish those small moments, the annoyances, or little laughs, or grocery trips, that we had that connected us. I remember when I told you I had to put Penny down, and I was so afraid you'd be mad, but you looked at me with such love and said, "Katie, you do what you can." And I knew you meant it, and understood, and loved me.
I remember when, after Grandma died, I came to visit and found you over the newspaper, and you looked up and said, "I keep thinking she is still here, and I call out to her to read her something from the paper, and I remember she's gone." I thought that you two knew such love, and that that was such a blessing, and that I was so lucky to be a part of this family thread filled with love.
Most of all, I remember walking the beach at the Bay with you, as a child, when I thought you'd dug out the slough for me alone, and as an adult, when you reminisced about your first marriage, and your career, or we talked about our family history, and we laughed as we looked for shark's teeth, and I told you about my boy troubles, or work, and we just enjoyed the Bay.
You gave me so much love and joy and I learned so much from you. I miss you, but I'm mostly so grateful to have had you in my life, Grandpa. I know you didn't believe in an afterlife, but I also know that you live on in the memories of your family, and we'll never forget you.
Thanks for everything, Opa. Tonight, I'll listen to Satin Doll and Moon River, and think of you, and smile.
Love,
Katie
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