LR3
Rock Crawler
There are some people that leave an everlasting impression on everybody that they meet. My grandfather, Randol Olin Farlow, was one of those people.
Many grandchildren are close with their grandparents, but my grandfather and I were close for reasons other grandchildren and grandparents might not be. My father passed away in 2003. It was a death that shocked everybody, because at the age of thirty-nine, nobody expects you to pass away and leave behind a wife to tend to her five and eight year olds soulfully. My grandfather was already a very important part of my life, but the relationship that developed in the following years will forever stay with me.
My grandfather, G-Dad as we called him, was a very loving man and a very strong Christian man as well, which is something that everybody that he knew strongly admired. He was a deacon for as long as I can remember, and would do anything for his family. In 2003, my grandfather became the most important person to ever enter my life. The earlier years are not very clear; I don’t remember much except for the vacations and the typical sarcastic smile he would have when you would poke fun at him; that is my earliest memory. As the years went by though, I found myself going to him instinctively for advice, and it became apparent to me that with his many years of life experience, there isn’t anything you could ask him that he wouldn’t know an answer to, and in the event that he did not know an answer, which was rare, he could and would figure it out.
As I reached my pre-teen and teenage years, being without a father was tough. It was in these years that my grandfather truly became my hero. My grandfather and I both shared many of same interests. We both had a passion for automobiles both new and old, and we both enjoyed sport shooting, and we would spent multiple weekends visiting the local firing range perfecting our shots, even though he always had a better eye than me. We both also grew to enjoy the sport of offroading. I remember very clearly the day that I received my Jeep. I drove up the driveway and as I opened the garage door and rounded the corner, I was greeted by my grandfather and grandmother standing next to a new-to-me bright silver Grand Cherokee. Unknown at that time, that Jeep would be a hobby for not just me, but for him as well. That vehicle saw many adventures with the two of us. The very first time it saw dirt was the summer after he had purchased it for me. I was able to talk into coming with me on the trails at Amicalola Falls State Park. It was a hot and musty summer day, and as we were winding through the beautiful landscape created by the Lord that we both love, and that he is now with, we talked about random things. He would get on the topic of the economy and government, and I would pretend that I understood what he was talking about, then we would both see something as simple as an old building or car, and chances were that he had some life story that he could associate it with. He was a wealth of information, and I loved every story, and will cherish them for as long as I may live.
It was not long after that first ride though Amicalola that I found a local organization of Jeep owners to ride with. My grandfather and I attended countless trips with them, and he became part of the Jeep owners family as much as I had. Our first official ride was in Dawsonville. It was simple, but my lasting memory was the uncertainty he had when he thought that I could not make it over or between some obstacles. I would give him a hard time about it, saying that ‘he is the reason that I am into this’, and he would look at me and flash that sarcastic smile that he was famous for, then I would always make it over or around what he would say I couldn’t. It was always fun to prove him wrong in that respect. The very last trail ride that he attended with me was in July of 2012. We rode up to Chattanooga Tennessee with a medium sized group of Jeep owners. It was the best trip to date. Seeing his smile when we would make a climb that he thought was impossible, or get through a heavily rutted area without breaking a sweat was worth more to me than anything. Because he was happy, I was happy.
It was earlier in that year that he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I remember being worried, but not too worried because I knew that my grandfather was a strong man, and that he would be okay, which he was, for a while at least. November 2012 came and they found a spot on his liver. The biopsy came back positive for cancer. The news worried me, and my family as a whole, but I knew he would be okay, which he is, but not in a way that any of us left behind would like. By the time the holiday season came, he was very sick, and each time I went to visit him he seemed to be getting worse. It escalated so quickly, that hospice care was the only option.
I remember walking into the room, and telling G-dad that I was there and that I loved him, and he simply groaned and grunted, for he had lost the ability to talk. He spent the final two week of his life in hospice care, with his family at his bedside daily. The very last time that I was able to tell my grandfather that I loved him was Monday, January 14th 2013. At this point, he had stopped eating and drinking all together, and his right arm had become paralyzed. We knew that it was a matter of time before he went home to be with the Lord, but we never knew how quickly it would come. I sat by his bedside, and held his hand and began to cry. He must have sensed my sadness because tears began to rundown his face. I squeezed his hand tightly, bent over him and embraced him the best I could, and told him one last time how much I loved him. What he replied with were simply four moans and gasps, but I knew exactly what they meant. Tuesday, January 15th at 5:30 in the morning, my grandfather passed away with my Uncle and Grandmother by his side. The following week was the roughest week I have ever faced, only slightly eclipsed by the week that my father went home. The viewing and memorial service was a manifesto of a man so loving and so brilliant, that everyone who got to know him, even if for only five minutes, was touched in some positive way.
I know he loved me dearly, and still does, and I loved him dearly, and still do. He was always there for me, and I was with him until the end. While I am sad I am also happy. I am happy that I got to spend seventeen beautiful years with a man who loved and cared about me endlessly. I am happy that he is in a perfect place where the earthy troubles cease to exist. I am happy because he is with the creator, the person who he spent countless years teaching me and others about. I am also happy that I am related to him; it is an absolute honor to call him my grandfather, and I promise G-dad, I will make you proud. I love you, so much.
Many grandchildren are close with their grandparents, but my grandfather and I were close for reasons other grandchildren and grandparents might not be. My father passed away in 2003. It was a death that shocked everybody, because at the age of thirty-nine, nobody expects you to pass away and leave behind a wife to tend to her five and eight year olds soulfully. My grandfather was already a very important part of my life, but the relationship that developed in the following years will forever stay with me.
My grandfather, G-Dad as we called him, was a very loving man and a very strong Christian man as well, which is something that everybody that he knew strongly admired. He was a deacon for as long as I can remember, and would do anything for his family. In 2003, my grandfather became the most important person to ever enter my life. The earlier years are not very clear; I don’t remember much except for the vacations and the typical sarcastic smile he would have when you would poke fun at him; that is my earliest memory. As the years went by though, I found myself going to him instinctively for advice, and it became apparent to me that with his many years of life experience, there isn’t anything you could ask him that he wouldn’t know an answer to, and in the event that he did not know an answer, which was rare, he could and would figure it out.
As I reached my pre-teen and teenage years, being without a father was tough. It was in these years that my grandfather truly became my hero. My grandfather and I both shared many of same interests. We both had a passion for automobiles both new and old, and we both enjoyed sport shooting, and we would spent multiple weekends visiting the local firing range perfecting our shots, even though he always had a better eye than me. We both also grew to enjoy the sport of offroading. I remember very clearly the day that I received my Jeep. I drove up the driveway and as I opened the garage door and rounded the corner, I was greeted by my grandfather and grandmother standing next to a new-to-me bright silver Grand Cherokee. Unknown at that time, that Jeep would be a hobby for not just me, but for him as well. That vehicle saw many adventures with the two of us. The very first time it saw dirt was the summer after he had purchased it for me. I was able to talk into coming with me on the trails at Amicalola Falls State Park. It was a hot and musty summer day, and as we were winding through the beautiful landscape created by the Lord that we both love, and that he is now with, we talked about random things. He would get on the topic of the economy and government, and I would pretend that I understood what he was talking about, then we would both see something as simple as an old building or car, and chances were that he had some life story that he could associate it with. He was a wealth of information, and I loved every story, and will cherish them for as long as I may live.
It was not long after that first ride though Amicalola that I found a local organization of Jeep owners to ride with. My grandfather and I attended countless trips with them, and he became part of the Jeep owners family as much as I had. Our first official ride was in Dawsonville. It was simple, but my lasting memory was the uncertainty he had when he thought that I could not make it over or between some obstacles. I would give him a hard time about it, saying that ‘he is the reason that I am into this’, and he would look at me and flash that sarcastic smile that he was famous for, then I would always make it over or around what he would say I couldn’t. It was always fun to prove him wrong in that respect. The very last trail ride that he attended with me was in July of 2012. We rode up to Chattanooga Tennessee with a medium sized group of Jeep owners. It was the best trip to date. Seeing his smile when we would make a climb that he thought was impossible, or get through a heavily rutted area without breaking a sweat was worth more to me than anything. Because he was happy, I was happy.
It was earlier in that year that he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I remember being worried, but not too worried because I knew that my grandfather was a strong man, and that he would be okay, which he was, for a while at least. November 2012 came and they found a spot on his liver. The biopsy came back positive for cancer. The news worried me, and my family as a whole, but I knew he would be okay, which he is, but not in a way that any of us left behind would like. By the time the holiday season came, he was very sick, and each time I went to visit him he seemed to be getting worse. It escalated so quickly, that hospice care was the only option.
I remember walking into the room, and telling G-dad that I was there and that I loved him, and he simply groaned and grunted, for he had lost the ability to talk. He spent the final two week of his life in hospice care, with his family at his bedside daily. The very last time that I was able to tell my grandfather that I loved him was Monday, January 14th 2013. At this point, he had stopped eating and drinking all together, and his right arm had become paralyzed. We knew that it was a matter of time before he went home to be with the Lord, but we never knew how quickly it would come. I sat by his bedside, and held his hand and began to cry. He must have sensed my sadness because tears began to rundown his face. I squeezed his hand tightly, bent over him and embraced him the best I could, and told him one last time how much I loved him. What he replied with were simply four moans and gasps, but I knew exactly what they meant. Tuesday, January 15th at 5:30 in the morning, my grandfather passed away with my Uncle and Grandmother by his side. The following week was the roughest week I have ever faced, only slightly eclipsed by the week that my father went home. The viewing and memorial service was a manifesto of a man so loving and so brilliant, that everyone who got to know him, even if for only five minutes, was touched in some positive way.
I know he loved me dearly, and still does, and I loved him dearly, and still do. He was always there for me, and I was with him until the end. While I am sad I am also happy. I am happy that I got to spend seventeen beautiful years with a man who loved and cared about me endlessly. I am happy that he is in a perfect place where the earthy troubles cease to exist. I am happy because he is with the creator, the person who he spent countless years teaching me and others about. I am also happy that I am related to him; it is an absolute honor to call him my grandfather, and I promise G-dad, I will make you proud. I love you, so much.
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