A life well-lived will be remembered with sweet memories

Grandpa and Evangeline, April 2011

One of my most dedicated readers will never read this column. But this one, it’s all about him. 
My grandfather, Lester Spader, went home peacefully early Sunday morning, surrounded by his children, beloved by his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, respected in his community, secure in his faith. He was 91, and until his later years, had been blessed with incredible good health. A life-long farmer, he worked hard and even after “retiring” (really, what farmer ever truly retires?) he kept busy growing the most delicious sweet corn in York County.

Last Sunday was the last time I saw him. Evangeline and I visited him in the nursing home, a place he’d lived for the past couple of years. During previous visits, Evangeline had been shy around her great-grandpa, but this time was different. She smiled and played peek-a-boo with Grandpa, in between dashing into the hallway to charm other residents. I know she won’t have any memories of him, so it will be up to me to share some with her. 
Grandpa had a sweet tooth. There was always a drawer full of candy in his office. And it didn’t contain wannabe candies like peppermints; no, it was always the good stuff — miniature Snickers, Hershey bars, chocolate kisses. Think Willy Wonka with a hog farm instead of a chocolate factory. He loved to share that sweet bounty with his grandchildren, and with any other child who looked like they could use a treat. One summer day after he picked me up from swimming lessons, he leaned out of the car window and asked one of my classmates if he would like some candy. This was in the heyday of “stranger danger” awareness in elementary schools and this little boy clearly had been trained well: His eyes huge, he made tracks away from Grandpa’s car. I know Grandpa didn’t understand why his innocent offer was rejected; after all, he came from a different, better-intentioned generation. 
He graduated from high school in 1939 and served in WWII. He and my grandma Frances were married in 1947 and in 1952, my father was born. Eventually, their family grew to include my uncles and aunt, plus several nieces and nephews they also raised. Grandpa and his three sons farmed together, producing hogs, corn and soybeans in the fertile flatlands of southeast Nebraska. 
Most people outside of York County probably never knew my grandpa’s name, but in Waco and York, the county seat, there was always a great deal of respect attached to the family name. That’s due to the fact that my grandpa was a decent man, hardworking and honest, friendly and family-oriented. It’s why I still include my maiden name in my byline; I’m proud of the people I came from and I strive to live up to their legacy. 
During one of my last visits with Grandpa, I told him the name we’ve chosen if our second baby is a boy and together we found where it’s referenced in the Bible. I commented that his large-print Bible was well-used and he told me about when he read through it from Genesis to Revelation. It took a while, he said, but it was good reading. 
Like the rest of my family, I will miss Grandpa Lester and there is always sadness in the loss of dear one. But as we prepare to celebrate his memory later this week, I’m also aware of the joy that comes from knowing a long life well-lived ended peacefully. 
There can be no greater accomplishment than to leave this earth with the hope of salvation and the knowledge of generations of love.
On the Lighter SidePublished March 28, 2012