Someone once said, “A ship sails and I stand watching until it fades on the horizon and someone at my side says it is gone. Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. It is just as large now as when I last saw it. That is what dying is—a horizon and just the limit of our sight.” That is how I’ll remember my Pappy—just as large and just as real as the last time I saw him.

Anybody who has ever worked in retail knows that one old man who comes into their store every week and tells the same corny joke. This same old man tells their life story and shows wallet pictures of his grandchildren. To some teen-aged cashiers, this man was my Pappy.

I only knew my Pappy for the last twenty years of his life. Until recently, it hadn’t occurred to me that he was anything besides a grandfather. Throughout his life he was a son, a brother, a dad, an uncle, a coach, and a coworker. I can’t speak for everybody in his life, but I can speak as his granddaughter.

My Pappy was always there, always involved. He was at every soccer game, school play, and family gathering. Year after year, he came to grandparents’ day at school to support my brothers and me. I remember him being so proud when I introduced him as my grandpa. He was always proud of his grandchildren; whether we lost a game or did bad on a test, Pappy would be proud.

My first year of high school, I remember him asking my mom when grandparents day was. Little did he know, there was no grandparents’ day in high school, but he continued to support us no matter how old we got. He would call me while I was away at college just to tell me he was thinking of me. He was always concerned and making sure I didn’t need anything.

I know that it wasn’t just his grandchildren he supported. He was always there for my mom and uncles throughout their entire lives. Like they say, the best parents get promoted to grandparents.