He lived life. That's for sure.

Today I lost my grandfather.

He was 92 years old and one of the coolest guys on the whole planet.

I thought about writing this enormous post about him, about all the hilarious things he did, how hard he worked, how much he cared about his family and what an amazing, firm handshake he had... but really, I could never do him justice and he would have just laughed that off anyway.

He knew how much I love to talk, and he'd sit and listen to me rant on and on about everything from women to work every time I saw him. (Somehow after a visit with that man, girl problems or work troubles really didn't matter much.) So no, a gigantic world-broadcast eulogy wouldn't blow his skirt up at all. He'd rather go sit in his favorite chair, throw back a few chocolate mints and watch some football.

In the weeks before he died, this life-long dairy farmer drove himself around Rocky Valley on joy rides, took his own silverware to Hardee's to eat his biscuits and gravy (because he hated plastic silverware) and did nothing but smile from ear to ear about pretty much anything and everything.

Oh, I'm serious. Anything and everything.

His laugh was never fake; his eyes squinted, his teeth shined and his head leaned backwards without a single care in this whole world. Ab-so-lutely priceless.

If I make it to be even half his age and can somehow capture just a little bit of his whimsical attitude and unbelievably cool demeanor and confidence, I'll have accomplished a hell of a lot.

A lot of 92-year-old guys probably just hang out in nursing homes, drink a bunch of Ensure and/or dwell on total negativity and paranoia, but not this guy.

No, this guy was too busy living life for that stuff. He really lived life.

Tonight my heart goes out.

I loved him and I'll really miss him.