It’s been two weeks since our grandpa Harold Hust, “Gramps,” passed away. Two weeks that he’s been enjoying heaven and we’ve been adjusting to the new “normal” without him here with us. 

It’s a bittersweet normal, thinking about how much he would have enjoyed this beautiful spring weather, going on outings with the family, and watching his garden and Eliza grow. He enjoyed this life—and we enjoyed him. 

And we will miss him. I only met Gramps five years ago, but I had the privilege of knowing him pretty well in his final years. I am very thankful for that.

Three years ago, Casey and I moved down to Glen Aubrey and bought our house from Grandpa. For the past three years, he lived in the downstairs, and we lived in the finished apartment upstairs. He was a great neighbor— you couldn’t possibly ask for a better one. He was patient— when I left laundry in the washer or misplaced his keys. He was generous— lending me anything from a cup of flour to use of his car, freezer, washing machine and clothesline. He was a peaceful neighbor— except for the couple of times he played the Yankee game in his room after bedtime and we could hear it blaring up through the floorboards. But actually, Casey kind of appreciated that because he could sometimes keep tabs on the score!

It was a special relationship we got to have with him. There was this unspoken rule between us that we helped each other out. Casey and I would help him with the things he couldn’t physically do anymore (which wasn’t much—he still tried to do things he shouldn’t have been doing anymore!) and he would insist on paying for things like home repairs and flowers for me to plant in the front garden. He was a man who didn’t like to ask anyone for anything, but he didn’t mind asking his grandkid-neighbors for help because he knew that he helped us out even more. 

Not many people have the honor of living next-door (or upstairs from) a grandparent. There is a special wisdom you can gain from a grandparent when living the day-in and day-out with them, watching their quiet routines and the way they live their lives. Gramps never really shared his wisdom in the form of advice, but by the example of how he lived. I will always take that with me and be inspired by the way he lived, even in his old age. If there was one word I could use to describe the man I got to know for the past 3 years, it would be “honorable.” 

I have heard the stories of his younger years, and how he was respected and loved by everyone who knew him, was very active in the community, how he stood up for what was right and was always there for his family and anyone who needed a family. His older years were not quite as active, but his aging was just as honorable. I have never met someone so hard working, grateful for life and generous toward others. 

I wish I could have seen Gramps’ legendary work ethic in his younger years, but I think I still got a picture of it in his old age. At 88 years old with his health on the decline, I think he put the rest of us to shame with the work he still pushed himself to do. Every single day, he was up and dressed before the sun was up. Every single day, he cooked a mid-day meal for himself and clean up after himself. He tended an amazing garden that put even our farm’s garden to shame. Even when it got to the point that his legs and knees hardly worked anymore, he still got himself outside every day he could, and went on a weekly errand-run downtown (the only thing I did for him was drive). He could have asked us to do a lot more for him—but whether it was his stubbornness or work ethic—he never did.

It’s not easy being grateful when you are 88 years old. Gramps had a lot of things he could have complained about— knees and legs not working anymore, being almost completely deaf, his fingers not having feeling, doctor’s appointments every other week. He was also diabetic. But I never heard him complain, except for an occasional “my legs have had enough for today.” Instead of complaining, he was grateful. There were a number of times I was late for our weekly shopping trip (to be honest, I was late most of the time— sometimes five minutes, sometimes twenty five if I took long on the farm chores). I would apologize and he would always say with a smile, “doesn’t make any difference.”

I will also always remember how grateful he was when anyone visited him. Every time I brought Eliza downstairs for a short visit, he would be sure to say, “Thanks for bringing her down.” When he was in the hospital and rehab center his last few weeks, he told every person who stopped in “Thanks for coming” (unless he was asleep). And he meant it. 

He was also the most generous guy I have ever known. He never spent money on himself that he could spend on other people. From accompanying him on his shopping trips, I saw how frugal he was with himself; and from his trips to the bank I could see how extremely generous he was with others.

Gramps was the humble kind of guy who wouldn’t want the attention, but since he isn’t right here to chide us for honoring him, let’s continue telling his story and being inspired by it. Let us be inspired to work hard, to be grateful for the life we are given, to give generously to others, and most of all—to love. We love you, Grandpa.