A Century of Love and Legacy: Remembering My Grandparents
This July 22 marks what would have been my grandpa’s 100th birthday. Ten years ago, I wrote a tribute to him on his 90th—and now, I write not only for him but for both of them. My grandpa passed away in 1996, and late last year, my grandma joined him, passing in 2024 at the age of 93.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of them. We were incredibly close. They lived just across the street from where I grew up, and their presence was a constant part of my life—especially his trucks, which were often parked in the field right next to our house.
The picture on the left was taken about 1958. Not sure when/where the picture on the right was taken, but they look like they were having fun. And that car would make a cool hot rod!
I spent countless hours with both of them growing up. Some of my best memories come from traveling the country with my grandpa. He was a truck driver by trade, and as soon as school let out for the summer, I’d climb into the cab and hit the road with him—until it was time for our family vacation. Once that wrapped up, I’d be back on the truck until school started again in the fall.
Like most kids with a hero in their life, I wanted to follow in his footsteps. All I dreamed about was becoming a truck driver. But he didn’t want that for me. He knew firsthand what it meant to be away from your family, and he didn’t want me to miss out on those moments. Looking back now, I’m thankful I didn’t take that path—but I’ll always treasure the time I spent on the road with him.
In the picture on the left, I was about a year old. the second picture, I was about 8 and on that first trip with him and we stopped at Old Tuscon, AZ.
Over the years, he had some pretty cool trucks. I don’t remember the earliest ones, but the last few—I remember well. I spent a lot of time in those trucks, whether we were rolling down the highway or just sitting at home admiring them.
The red/white KW is the first truck he bought around 1967. The second truck was a black/white KW cabover bought in the early 70s. The green KW is the first truck I remember and the first trip I made with him to California. He didnt' keep the Silver/Red 70s Cabover long before he bought the last one, a 1979 Peterbilt 359.
My grandpa also loved to fish. He could sit for hours on the banks of the Huron River—sometimes not even caring if a fish was biting. I spent countless quiet hours beside him, just soaking it all in. It wasn’t about catching anything—it was just about being there.
One thing he never missed—if he could help it—was Christmas. He loved that time of year and being home with the family. I honestly can’t remember a single Christmas he wasn’t there.
But more than anything, he loved his family. He was proud of his kids, his grandkids, and his great-granddaughter. I have a picture of him holding her when she was less than a year old. Today, she’s 31.
And he loved my grandma. That was clear to anyone who saw them together. I was around many times when he was getting ready to head out on a trip, and she was always there by his side. She’d pack his suitcase, have his thermos of coffee ready, and make sure he had everything he needed. They were just shy of celebrating 50 years of marriage when he passed.
I’ll also never forget the time I spent with my grandma. There are two things I wish I could recreate: her gravy, and her pancakes and syrup. I’ve almost got the pancakes down—she’d stir them once in the skillet to give the edges that perfect crisp. And her syrup? Just sugar, brown sugar, and water—but no matter how many times I try, it never tastes quite like hers.
When I wrote the original version of this story a decade ago, it took me over a month to pull it together. I had help from my mom and grandma collecting photos, though I never told them what I was working on. I’ll always be thankful for their help—and for the memories we preserved.
These were taken about a year before they were married.
Family has always been at the center of my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I consider myself incredibly fortunate. I had the rare privilege of knowing all four of my grandparents and even a few of my great-grandparents. Not everyone gets that chance, and I don’t take it for granted.
So here’s to 100 years. To a man who helped shaped my life, and a woman who held it all together. Their love and legacy live on—in our stories, our memories, and the family they built.