Yesterday morning my grandfather, Orville Weber, passed from this world to the next.
Eighty eight years old, he was still in reasonably good health and lived on his farm with my grandmother. He had started yesterday out like any other day, went to town for parts for his lawn mower, left the house on his golf cart and headed to the barn to work. All indications are that he probably started feeling bad, and headed back to the house. On his way across the yard, somewhere on that final trip his heart failed. A few minutes later my grandmother went out to mail a letter, and saw his golf cart stopped against some rocks. She called the paramedics, and the ambulance came. He was transported to McKee Medical Center, but there was nothing to be done. He was gone.
At 11:19 am I got a call from a friend of mine, another mutual friend of ours who drives truck for a local paving company had seen the ambulances headed to my grandparents house and wanted to know what was going on. Even though I live in another city – I knew about the incident minutes from the time it occurred. It makes me feel good to know that my grandfather was so well known and liked that even the paving crews that drove by his house every day were watching out for him.
My grandfather is a hard man to describe. He was a farmer all his life, and successful, but his life wasn’t defined by his major accomplishments. What was more important were all the little things he did. The way that he never backed down from anyone or anything. His quiet way where most people who didn’t know him thought he was so serious. The way he would tease all the old ladies at church every Sunday. The way he could pour anything from one container to another without ever spilling a drop. The way he would sit out on a tractor all day long just as happy as a clam. The way he would eat tuna fish, miracle whip and ketchup sandwiches. The way his plate always looked cleaner after dinner than it did before. The way he would fall asleep sitting up in the kitchen chair at lunch time for a nap. The way he would drive hs old pickup down the road at 30 mph (in a 55 zone), but have no problem driving his Cadillac down the Interstate at 90. The way he loved my grandmother like she was the only woman in the world after 67 years of marriage.
It’s with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes that I say goodbye to this great man.