If I spend too much time typing this, I'm going to cry again.
He always made each of us feel like his favorite.
He was a surrogate father, a wonderful grandpa, and a good friend.
He was a big tease, but could also take it as well as he gave it. (Oh, how many times did we ask him if he remembered his teeth or his wallet whenever we went out to lunch!)
If we went out for ice cream, he would always order "mint chip."
He loved trains. That bears repeating, he LOVED trains. Think 4 hour drive to the middle of nowhere to see a train museum. Think dragging 3 girls (and a Mexican exchange student) to Hoboken, NJ just to ride the train into New York City. Think booking two tickets on the Auto Train spur of the moment to take me to my best friend's wedding right before Christmas and then thanking ME for the trip! Think coming to visit me in NH and watching the clock so he could be in White River Junction at 7 just to watch the train come in. He loved trains.
The first time I ever saw him cry was when he left me at BYU. He cried, which made me cry and soon we were both blubbering fools.
I remember his laugh. I remember his smile. I remember him whole and healthy and full of life.
And now I'm crying again.