Dear Fred,
We go way back. Further back than I can recall. You are technically my oldest friend (in every sense). One of my most vivid childhood memories is of you flexing your muscles. You had to have been well into your sixties at the time but I recall being quite impressed. You always seemed larger than life. So tall I had to step back and strain to look up at you. But almost silent. You never talked as much as Mary Ann and despite your smiling, Jake and I were always a little more subdued when you were around. Still, you were the best of neighbors and indistinguishable from a Grandpa.
When I left on my mission you looked so pale and thin, I was terrified you wouldn't be here when I got back. But you were and we have had years of your celebrating my visits only to bemoan my still single state. When I got sick everyone told me that you were worried about me and that I needed to call you. But I kept putting it off and putting it off. Finally one day a mutual neighbor of ours gave me a talking to and I rang you up. You answered and said, "Oh, Samantha! Is that you?!" quickly followed by, "Oh garsh, I think I'm going to cry." And just like that we were both bawling. You assured me you had worn out your knees praying for me and I felt so sharply humbled by the thought of your creaky joints and farmer's faith. Of all the prayers offered on my behalf in those years, I think yours were the ones I felt most keenly.
Thank you for letting me pester you as a girl. And for pestering me when I became an adult. Thank you for always being overjoyed to see me, your heartfelt prayers, and simple advice, big hugs, and gruff tenderness. Thank you for being my Grandpa.
I love you,
Sam
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