My Grandpa Martin died when I was eight years old. I remember that the last time that I saw him was when we went to the hospital after I had fallen down on a fishing trip with my Dad and Brother and cut my side open. I had to have stitches so we went to the hospital to get it sewn up and then visited Grandpa when we were there.
My mom says I’m a lot like him.
Grandpa Martin was in the hospital at the time recovering from a heart attack. He was a smoker of cigars, worked at his bank all the time and didn’t lead a very healthy lifestyle. I always loved being around Grandpa Martin because he always seemed to be In a good mood. He died too soon.
I’ll write about Grandpa, even though my memories are not all that plentiful about him. I seem to remember more general characteristics than I did specific events.