Grandpa "Fingers"

This post isn't about farming, chickens or my kids.  This post is about Grandpa "Fingers".  You may read this post if you like, but today, this is my outlet.  I think this post is more for me. 
 Grandpa Favinger (Grandpa "Fingers") to the many grand kids unable to pronounce his name, past away last night.  He was my friend, and I loved him.  Grandpa Fingers was my husband's grandpa.  A long time resident of New Plymouth he always lived close to us.  It was easy to run over to his house, though I wish now, I would have done it more. 
  Every fourth Sunday over the last twelve years grandpa would host Sunday dinner.  This dinner wasn't just a meal.  It was memories.  Grandpa lived on acreage.  He had a large garden.  He had a plum tree (great for climbing in) and the kids loved it.  He had a large yard that has hosted the monthly "Bayes Family Football Game".  He lived out in the country, and his place welcomed family walks in the sunshine.  It welcomed all the new babies entering the family.  It welcomed good food, celebrations and cousins excited to see each other.  Grandpas was where we'd go to be together. 
  Grandpa welcomed me into the family with open arms.  He made me feel important, and valued my opinion (regardless of how goofy it could sometimes be). :) I felt welcomed and part of the family at grandpa's house.  I was one of the bunch.
  I am sad to have lost him.  I know he wanted to go.  His health was failing and I know he was lonely.  It's just difficult to say good bye sometimes.
  We went to his house last night after we got the call he'd passed away.  Goober his little dog met us at the door, toe nails clacking on the tile floor.  The ever-present marble game was still sitting on the table as it has since I've known him.  Grandpa Fingers loved marbles.  The smells were the same and everything still seemed to say, "this is grandpas".  When we left however, the screen on his old white farmhouse closed.  There is an association I make with the sound of the screen closing.  It's grandpa standing there with his old hat, waving.  Watching us climb into our car and always saying "You come back now!".   It's that I will miss.  We love you Grandpa Fingers.