A few days ago, I was going to ask you to pray for my grandfather. He was diagnosed with Colon Cancer and things were happening pretty quickly. First they gave us six months, then five weeks. We are flying to Texas tomorrow, so I was sure I’d hold his hand and say goodbye. I would tell him how much I loved clogging with him in the garage. I would tell him how I’d always remember how beautiful his backyard was. I would tell him that I loved when he played the accordion and sang old hymns.

This morning, I got the call. I didn’t get there soon enough. He made it to heaven before I could tell him just one more time.

Grandpa was a pilot. He trained pilots during WWII in Harlingen, Texas. He said he was always a little sad when the pilots graduated because he knew that some wouldn’t come home. He was stuck stateside because his little brother had died overseas in the war. That always made him a little angry. He wanted to go. He flew a P-39. For years, I looked for a P-39 model to build with Nate – but they just aren’t that common.

He was an amazing storyteller and won more than one “tall tale” award at family reunions. I’ll let you decide how much truth this story has in it – it was one of his favorites to tell.

He was held after regular drills one day. He was told that he had a top secret mission that he could tell no one about. He wasn’t even allowed to let grandma know that he’s be sent on a mission. He met a fellow in a dark trench coat on the runway late that night. He was given a box and strict orders to keep complete radio silence and fly north to Fort Worth, Texas and deliver this box. He was just certain that he was carrying a piece of the atomic bomb. The timing was right and all the bases were on high alert. He carefully loaded that box and flew into the black of night. He kept complete radio silence. He returned to the base and months went by without anyone saying a word about that special delivery.

A few months later, a four star general thanked him for saving their turkey hunt. He had carried live ammunition up to Fort Worth so that the generals could go turkey huntin’. Oh, he was mad.

A few years ago he was a recipient of the Tom Brokaw’s greatest generation award. We were all so very proud of him.

He taught me to clog on a wooden stage in his garage. I spent hours dancing to ‘Cotton Eyed Joe’ and listening to the taps echo. I’m pretty sure I can still do the entire routine.

He taught me the phrase, ‘one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, now go!go!go!’ He always said that at the beginning of our races down the sidewalk. He always won.

He taught me how to help get a stranger’s car out of the sand dunes in Corpus Christi, Texas with just one piece of driftwood.

He played accordion for my little ones and sang all the old hymns with passion.

I’ll miss you, grandpa. I’m so glad you are flying again!