Remembering Grandpa

Grandpa and "Christy" 

This past Sunday marked 10 years since my grandfather, Ernest Steinhorst, passed away. I still have to remind myself sometimes that he and Grandma aren't in their old house on Fifth Street, which makes me so very sad. There's nothing I would enjoy more than introducing them to my kids. I know Grandma would fill them full of cookies. I can picture Grandpa letting them sit on his lap while they look at books. I think they would have been tickled to fill their tiny house with yet more great-grandkids.

Grandma visiting with Callie and Molly, 2004

By some standards, my grandparents may not be memorable. They were farm folks of limited formal education. They were soft-spoken people who lived simply. I can tell you, though, that it's because of them, that I am who I am and I do what I do. Every year our family would file into "their" church pew on Christmas Eve. My humble grandparents would beam with joy to have everyone home for Christmas. I have never seen anyone of business or wealth or status who was as happy as they were just to be with family. Because of them, I can be home with my children every day knowing that I don't have to do anything else with my life for it to be a success. From Ernest and Dorothy Steinhorst I learned that a life well lived is one in which you work hard, put your faith in God and cherish family. Anything beyond that is just icing on the cake.

Grandma and Grandpa, I love you and miss you.