Remembering

June Gloom waited until the middle of July, but it has finally broken.
I sigh every time a thermometer reads 95*.  I was spoiled growing up on the coast.  Everyone should grow up on the coast.

Today, I used the cute pink sun shade in my car for the first time this summer.
As I pulled it out of the pocket on the back of the driver seat, a piece of paper stuck to it and fluttered to my lap.  I felt as if I had been hit in the chest when I saw Papa Chuck's boxy, all-caps handwriting on the scrap of paper.  It was a note he had written for me, letting me know in detail the work he had done on my car the last time he fixed it up for me.

CHANGED ENGINE OIL AND FILTER
RADIATOR REBUILT
INSTALLED NEW ANTI FREEZE
INSTALLED NEW FRONT BRAKE PADS
INSTALLED NEW REAR BRAKE PADS
INSTALLED PULL SHADE OVER REAR AREA
ROTATED TIRES
PUT MIRROR ON R/H SUN VISOR
(I HAVE ANOTHER FOR L/H IF YOU WANT)

What an amazing man he was!  I grew up knowing there wasn't a thing in the world my Papa Chuck couldn't fix.  He bought and fixed up used cars for me and each of my siblings (even looked ahead and provided a car for Laura last year when she was only 15!)  Every car my family has ever owned has been one that Papa found, fixed, and maintained for us. 

Last year when he started getting sick, it was a real eye-opener for me to realize what a blessing it had been to have his talents at our beck-and-call.  Man, mechanics are expensive!  These days, it selfishly feels like lemon juice poured in an open wound every time I have to pay for someone to do what Papa Chuck always did with a whistle and a smile.

It was an odd mix of feelings that hit me today in the car, with his note sitting in my lap.  I had thought that my sorrow over his death was gone;  I haven't cried for him in a while.  It came back with a bang, though.  The paper is still crisp and his handwriting so clear that it could have been written last week. 

But it wasn't all sadness this time.  Along with the pain of missing him, there was also this twinkly-eye kind of smile that came at the realization of how blessed I was to have him as my papa.

Not everyone has what I have had.  Jesse didn't even have one grandpa by the time he was 8 years old, and until last December, I had two.  Two grandpas, who, my whole life, have the best fixer-uppers, best inventers, best hearty-laughing, bright blue-eyed smiling, there-for-me-every-time-I-need-them grandpas. 

A girl can't complain about that.