Asking for Prayer for A Smooth Transition for Edward

Dedicated to Grandpa Edward Smith, A living Memorial

Death of a Salesman, that was the book I cited to my kids.

The story was about a hard working person whom passed away.

Herein, he is not passed, but he is about to cross that bridge. Grandpa Edward Smith.

There are not too many remnants of times of old.

Herein is old school.

He had the work ethic. He believed and worked hard all of his live. He built houses.

Then, he would mow those lawns.

If you needed anything built or fixed, he could do it for you, at a fair price.

He loved his daughter, and still loves her.

She had the dream that he would build a house of her.

He walked her down the Aisle.

This was an old school man. Work, then go fishing or hunting, then eat some deer, turtle, or rabbit meat, and drink a beer on the porch, with some good old time friends.

Bobby and other friends would stop by. They would drink and talk together.

No DWI, just drink at the end of the day, eat some fried chicken, and call it a day; get ready for the next day of work. And, fry a fish in between.

Some would say this was mundane. But, this was the sign of a great man with a work ethic.

Need something, just ask, he would do it. He never remembered my name, and yet I was married to his daughter and he had grand children, but he never remembered their names either.

He worked for “the man” and did not care because he knew and believed he needed to work.

A die hard. It was a curse to die alone or be alone, way back when. So, he put up with a lot of mess, “and no need now to tell his business”. Unlike today, if you sneeze wrong, it is off to divorce court. Back then, the curse was to die home alone. No matter what you put up with, the mess.

He did nobody harm. Just did what he could in life. All he needed was a little of Rabbit or Deer meat. That is all he ever wanted.

It was one of the Heat of the Nights neighborhoods. That other part of town with the old folk sitting on the porch, and, if you were white, you do not go there to “them people”. So too, Grandpa lived/lives in the ghetto, but, that is his lifetime hood. You could leave the door open inn the Ghetto. They knew whom you were and would not mess with you anyway.

This is and was a great man. He never spoke bad too me. He accepted everyone regardless.

I am not sure about his soul salvation. That is between him and his God. I hope and pray for him to “Make it in”.

Death has taught me something. It is not so simple..

It was bad in that in all our family feud, we, the Olavarria family, brothers fighting, were still able to be in the same room with my father. And, despite the fighting, we shared meals at the home of my uncle. But, at grandpa's house [Smith], I let the kids in to see him, and did not enter because others were their whom clearly did not want me there or come in. I waved from the window to Edward, and I know he saw me. I did not enter the house also because I knew I would break down. My dad's death is too fresh in my mind. I had a problem just driving to the Smith home because it all hit me while I was driving. I do not think I was emotionally ready to enter the house. Driving to another death, it is and was hard, although he is not dead yet.

Praying for him and family and friends.