Martin Wentzel Hill: December 20, 1916-September 8, 2013

My grandfather, Martin Wentzel Hill, died last night at the age of 96.

The funny thing about being a 39 year old woman with grandparents still alive is that you tend to just kinda assume they will ALWAYS be alive. He has brothers and sisters older than he that are still living. I used to joke that my mom's side of the family is part roach...they were going to live forever. It may be irrational, but I started to believe that. It's strange to think he is actually gone.

He was born in 1916 and would have been 97 this December. It's crazy to think of the changes he had seen in his lifetime.  He raised four children, was grandfather to seven and great grandfather to two.  To me he was Pop-Pop.

Cousin Bridget, Mike and me in the tree.

Strong, stoic, smart, kind, he was hilarious in a way I too late realized. Growing up we knew he was REALLY angry when he would yell the German phrase "verdammt sau donner wetter".   It wasn't til later I realized that the phrase I was so afraid of was "Damn Pig Thunderstorm".  He liked to kid me, a picky eater, "tempting" me with such fare as scrappel and chow chow.   He'd eat anything and the Pennsylvania Dutch's influence was easy to see. I passed on the "gross foods" but never passed up Shoofly Pie.  We always lived at least 8 hours from them but I remember spending most summers at the stone house he built, playing in the "crik" and climbing the big tree in their back yard. I remember catching fireflies in that yard, dancing in circles practicing being a ballet dancer in the basement, reading stacks of National Geographic magazines, getting pizza from Esposito's, sledding down the hill in the winter.  We moved around but Reading and the house at 1723 Friedensburg Road was my constant.  When I think of being a child, most of my memories happened in Stony Creek.  I still remember their phone number, neighbors, exact details of the street, the front yard, the back yard, though it is smaller than I remember (or I'm bigger).

With a full tuft of white hair on his head, he was always an imposing figure. But he softened as he aged, and while we generally didn't get along when I was a teenager (both of us stubborn and I was pretty much a shit), I am glad that I got to spend some time with him as an adult. On a summer road trip in 2008, I stopped in and spent the day with them. We  talked and talked and that was the first time I fully realized how great of a man he was; how smart, funny, stubborn and how much of an influence he has had on my family and of course, me.  On that trip he took me by the house he grew up in, talked about meeting and courting my grandmother, building the house I knew and loved, and his time in the Navy. I could have stayed up all night listening to him talk about his time in the war and one of my biggest regrets is that I didn't record every word he said.  We went by the local cemetery to see the graves of family members and I asked him if that was where he was going to be buried.  "Oh no" he snapped with such indignation I am sure I offended him with my question.  He will be buried in the national cemetery.  "I earned that" he told me. I don't think that is something my generation can appreciate- the pride of serving our country. As he aged, his body failed. He fought more cancers than I can remember, but his mind remained sharp.

The last time I saw him in person was in 2010. I drove to Boston for my friend Stacey's mom's funeral service and I stopped by on my way  back. I had to return to work so only stayed for dinner and again was reminded of how great of a man he was.  I wished I could have stayed longer, SHOULD have stayed longer, talked more, absorbed more and come to know him more for the man he was, than just my grandfather.

Today is he and my grandmother's 74th wedding anniversary. She doesn't remember much of anything; Alzheimer's has wrecked havoc with her brain. God surely has a sense of humor that my grandfather could be so mentally acute while his body failed him when exactly the opposite is happening to my grandmother.   But when I think of my grandparents, I will forever think of my grandfather sitting at the end of the table, my grandmother seated next to him, in her left hand a cup of coffee, in her right hand, my grandfather's hand on her lap.  Always coffee..always holding hands. The love he had for her is enviable and ever lasting.

There are too many memories to capture on on this blog; they flash in my mind when I think of him; the anniversary party we had in Maine with generations surrounding him (was that 50th?), the anniversary party we had in Reading, the week we spent in the Virgin Islands, him teaching me how to put up the flag in the front yard, shopping at Boscov's, the joy in his voice when I called him on Veteran's Day.

So to my grandfather, my newest guardian angel, thank you for your sense of humor, intelligence, your kindness, your nose (Ok, this I could have done without, or preferred a cute little one).  Thank you for the work ethic you instilled in your family, the love you passed along.  Thank you for being a Truly Great Man and showing me that honor, love and dignity exist. I am proud to be your granddaughter, to have Hill in my blood.  I love you and always will.