Today would have been my Grandpa's 95th birthday. We celebrated his last birthday on this Earth ten years ago. I think about my Grandfather almost daily and try not to dwell on his death. He meant the world to me. I spent half of my youth following him around learning how to fix anything and everything. The stories he told while we were in his garage or finishing a project were always fascinating to me. His youth and adventures in World War II were a constant topic and I could never get enough of them.
My grandpa taught me much more about life than just how to fix items. He taught me to be patient and kind. From him I learned that doing a job meant doing it correctly. He stressed that understanding was imperative in all situations and hard work was a must. These lessons have served me well in life. The values he taught me helped me choose a husband and to raise the Heinisch children.
I wish that all children had a CrapPa in their life, a friend in their corner and a crutch to lean on. Today I cried the same tears that I shed so many years ago when I heard he had died. They were selfish tears. He had lived a good life and his body could no longer fight the cancer that ravaged inside of him. Still I couldn't help but think that the stories had stopped. The week before he died he had told me one about a baseball game in his army unit that I had never heard before. As my tears dried and we headed out the door to a day of Heinisch children events I realized that the stories never really stopped. My Grandpa's blood may have never run through my veins, but his love was ever in my heart and as long as I was alive his memories would be shared for years to come.
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