Yesterday, my 93 year old Grandpa passed away. It was no surprise. He was 93. He wanted to go awhile ago. He was done. He'd broken his hip and then he got pneumonia.
He was born here, not in Japan like you might think. He did go back as a child to live there for a few years, but came back to Canada.
He had a huge vegetable garden, at least 4x the size of my sad garden, complete with green houses. He usually sold his vegetable at a local store.
We always celebrated Christmas at his house on Christmas Eve. Always. He carved the turkey.
Everyone brought something. Sweet potatoes, coleslaw, ham, salads, desserts, you always ate too much.
He sat at the head of the table. He liked his sweets. He always had a bag of hard candy in the cupboard.
He liked to fish. He used to take us to see Grandma at the packing house, sometimes stopping to pick up popsicles, root beer ones. He always had a pack of Fruit flavoured Chicklets in is truck and when it was parked in the carport, he'd leave the window open when it was hot, and I remember stealing a piece of gum when ever we could.
I think he liked to travel, I remember their trips to Hawaii, and Japan, with lots of photos taken. He's with Grandma now.