It's now been 13 days since one of the most wonderful people I've ever known passed away. Grandpa Artie was co-owner of that house on Mankato Avenue in which I spent a lot of time and in which I always felt safe. As a child, there was nothing better than waking up to the sound of Donna Fargo belting out "Happiest Girl in the Whole USA" on the radio while the smell of eggs and toast gently coaxed me out of my sleeping bag. Jerry and I spent many Saturday mornings laying in sleeping bags on the floor and watching cartoons. Grandma and Grandpa let us do this as long and as much as we wanted. If we wanted to stay up late and watch scary movies, we could do that, too. The atmosphere was always friendly, always welcoming, always the place to be.
As I got older, Grandpa Artie was always there if I needed help or advice. He was there to comfort me if I was getting a lot of verbal abuse from my step-father, Wes at the time. When I got my driver's permit, he volunteered to help teach me to drive (and kept his patience with me throughout - even when I almost hit a car while parallel parking).
One of the things I remember most happened later, long after Grandpa Artie retired from Bay State. One morning, the first house that Paula and I lived in ended up with a horrible back-up of sewage in our basement. Despite having to wade in over a foot of putrid sewage, Grandpa stayed and helped with pumps and a wet vac until my basement was dry. I don't know if I ever thanked him enough for that. I don't know if one could ever thank a person enough for that....
Fast forward to 13 days ago. As most of the family were gathered around Grandpa Artie's hospital bed, we all felt a collective gasp and intense sense of sorrow as he passed away. At that moment, Lee knelt down and touched Grandpa's leg and said, "Good job, Grandpa."
I can think of no better way to describe what Grandpa Artie meant to me and what he did for his family. I think Lee said it best, "Good job, Grandpa."
