Pocket knife

As far back as I can remember my grandfather Hubert carried an old wooden and brass handled knife in his pocket. Often times I would see him sitting outside widdling a small stick with it ( or scratching at his fingernails ha ha). That pocket knife, sadly, belongs to me now.

My grandfather passed away May 25. He was 85 years old. He had been ill for a while, but was doing a lot better in the long term care facility where he spent the last 2 months or so. It happened very quickly, we were told he was in no pain.

Pop was the father to 12 children, the grandfather of 23, the great-grandfather of 27, and the great-great-grandfather to four.

I sat down and figured out all those numbers a couple nights ago because no one had ever tried to. I told my Aunt, whom was closest to him besides his wife Doris of 63 years, and my Aunt said, “Jeez, someone was busy.”

It has been a sad few days for the Poole family. Siblings are starting to drive back to their homes again, and I can’t help but feel a big tear in my heart when I look at my Nan. She’s going through a lot of things now, I really hate to say good bye.

Here’s a picture that I took for her, her request. Here are 10 of her 12 children, the ones who were able to make it to Pop’s funeral.

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