Goodbye, Grandpa Skidmore

The first time I saw Grandpa Skidmore, he was riding down the streets of Richmond, Utah on an enormous tractor, wearing overalls and cowboy boots, and chewing on a piece of straw.  

I grew up in Orange County, and the only farmer I had ever seen was Farmer John on my package of bacon.  

He smiled and then waved at me and I giggled like a child.  I excitedly told Luke to check out the sweet old Farmer who had just waved at me and went on for approximately 6 minutes about how cute he was.  

Then Luke informed me that that was, indeed, his Grandpa.  

I was smitten.

Grandpa Skidmore was a Cowboy.  A farmer.  A devoted husband.  A veteran.  A great member of the church.  A father.  A grandfather.  A great-grandfather.  A perfect example.  And a great big teddy bear.  

He smiled  all day, every day.  He never got angry.  He never lost his temper.  He never had a negative thing to say. 

We got to visit him in May, and I should have, but didn't, get a picture of him with the kids.  

As Grandpa Skidmore would say, 

"Darn it to heck." 

Luke and I were able to drive to Utah for his funeral.  We drove there on Wednesday and back on Thursday.

And it was worth it. 

We will miss him, but we're glad he's finally, finally, able to rest.  

We love you, Grandpa Skidmore.