Gramps

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Today is my grandpa’s birthday.

He’s been gone 11 years.

I wrote the small obituary that ran locally, and I Googled it today. I miss him.

October 2, 1929 – February 9, 2006. Paul L. Cook never met a stranger. Big and boisterous, if Paul walked into a room where he didn’t know anyone, that wouldn’t be the case by the time he left. At restaurants, he’d joke with the servers and be treated like a regular — even if he wasn’t. He was a Missouri native but made Tucson his winter home to be close to his “out west” family. He quickly found friends at St. Paul’s United Methodist Church and Rincon Mobile Home Park Village, kind people who rallied around him and his wife Hazel when he fell ill two years ago. It’s been a year since his death, and now we remember the good times — his deep, rolling chuckle, how much he loved playing pool and how he’d wear shorts and flash those Missouri-white legs on a balmy winter day. We miss you and love you, Gramps.

 

 

 

 

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