Grandpa Hurst...

I don't know if I have ever missed someone this much. I'm not sure if it's just the time of year or what, but in church on Sunday, some little comment that one of the speakers made sent me into a whirlwind of longing for my Grandpa. my Grandpa Hurst that passed away when I was 7. I mean, I've missed him since he left us, but I don't know that I've ever missed him this much. I've been remembering the short time I had with him in greater detail than ever before. I remember him giving me "horsey rides" on his foot while he sang "Ride a cock-horsey to banburry cross, to see a fine Jennie upon a fine horse..." I remember the giant Family File machine in his bedroom. I can picture with perfect clarity his dark hair, his big dark glasses, his happy kind smile and the way just being with him for a few minutes lit up my small world. I can see him, shovel in hand, working in his giant garden. I can hear him telling me I was too small to help plant the potatoes. I can smell the earthy scent of the millions of marigolds that bordered every square inch of his front yard. I can see the piano in the back corner of his living room, it's keys all chipped and cracked from years of use and matchbox car races along them. I remember the year I got new bed sheets from Grandma and Grandpa, I thought they were awesome. I can feel the tupperware shape toys that I played with evey time I went to visit, I can see every painting Grandpa ever did, smell the yellow cake with chocolate frosting, I can smell the saw dust in the garage, and I can see the wooden toys he made. I remember their flocked white Christmas tree with the silver ornaments. I remember walking to the park on the 24th and sitting on Grandpa's lap for the fiesta days parade. I remember thinking that Grandpa was superman, and that his stay in the hospital was going to be a short one. I remember walking through the door the day Mom and Dad told me he was gone. I remember curling up on Daddy's lap, and sobbing for hours, then curling up around the coffee table leg when Dad needed to comfort Mom. I don't think I've cried that hard since. I remember seeing him for the first time in his coffin, his nearly black hair had turned white, and I knew somehow, that he was safe. and I remember how it felt to give him one last kiss on the cheek. I remember. I miss him.