Memories of My Grandpa Maurice Davis
My earliest memories come from County Road 9 in Garden Hill, in a little white house out in the country. Next door was my Grandma and Grandpa Davis. For almost 60 years they lived in that house together, raised four kids, welcomed 11 grandkids in an extended family, and then welcomed seven great-grandkids after that.
We all have our own memories of visiting Grandma and Grandpa together there, including cousins and friends and aunts and uncles, but very sadly, we won’t make any more with Grandpa there, and I will miss him.
My most recent memories will come from our last visit, just a week ago, a week before he passed. When I walked into the living room, Grandpa was in his chair, the Blue Jays game was on the TV, and he was already talking to Ollie, calling him by name and asking him questions. The only thing missing was a hot fire in the woodstove, but Labour Day weekend didn’t quite call for that.
After our visit and dinner, I got to kiss him on the head and tell him I loved him before we left. And I’m very thankful for that. It’s something that too often I haven’t had a chance to do, to say goodbye to good people that I’ve loved. And I know I’m lucky this time. Thank you, Grandpa.
When I was little, Grandpa had four little boys crawling and running around him. Mike and Brian and Chris and I all showed up within just a few years. Grandpa took us to the dump. Grandpa played with us. Grandpa sat us all in his lap at once in one of my very favourite photos from the mid-80s.
I remember being in the garage with him. It felt huge, this space filled with tools and wood and scrap. The big door opened out the driveaway peppered with plastic tips from wine tip Colts. I was in there last weekend and it felt a lot smaller, but just as special. His space. His stuff. His years of fiddling and tinkering and working on whatever. They were all in there with me.
I remember his quick flinch of a smile. The corners of his mouth jumping up before quickly dropping back down.
I remember his pretending to hate the cat and kittens in the woodshed. But taking them milk anyway. Maybe we have Grandma to thank more for that though.
I remember the single shot at the groundhog every spring.
I remember his lawnmower.
I remember my Grandpa having the most gorgeous head of snow-white hair I’ve ever seen. And by the time I turned 30 and started seeing greys, all I wanted was that when it was my time.
My Grandpa Maurice got a chance that doesn’t feel like it comes around a lot – he got to be a Grandpa to two different sets of grandkids. First, it was us boys, and then when we weren’t so little and underfoot anymore, the girls came in a tight little group for him to spoil. I’m sure that Leah and Paige and Breanna have a whole different set of Grandpa Maurice memories than we made, and I love that. I’m thankful for that for them and for him.
Grandpa loved him some baseball. He used to come to baseball games. He poked fun at me after my best little league game one year. He took pictures of my pitching. He watched games on TV with me. He went with Grandma to watch games long after us kids stopped playing. Whether he meant to or not, he put baseball in mom’s blood and she helped put it in mine. Thank God for that too.
On that last Sunday visit, we watched the Blue Jays beat Oakland 8-0 in the middle of an 8-game win streak to put them back in the playoff race. On Saturday when we lost him, the Blue Jays won both ends of a doubleheader against Baltimore with a comeback, last-inning wins that made me smile. Sports can be a really funny thing sometimes, but I couldn’t help but think that maybe they won those two for Grandpa and the rest of us that learned to love baseball with him.
I will miss my Grandpa.
That smile. His laugh. His hands. His hot fires. I will miss him for all we had and everything I know Ollie was lucky to have over the last 3 years and what every kid and adult who knew him got over the last 8 decades.
If I somehow find a way to work as hard as he did, as long as he did, I know I’ll be luckier than I could ever hope for.
If I can remember the things he taught me, the treats he shared with me, the visits we had when I was a kid and an adult, I’ll be spoiled forever.
The old red toy firetruck and some pictures are here at our place now. They make me smile. And they make me a little sad. But mostly, they remind me that for 39 years I got to have my Grandpa Maurice in my life, cheering me on, making jokes at me, and loving me.
And we should all be so lucky as to have something like that.
Love you, Grandpa. Thank you.