His full name was Harold Herbert Haller. Before he retired he was an economics professor at Michigan State University. He had lived in Michigan his entire life but when he moved to New Hampshire to be closer to his family he became a carpenter, a painter and a woodworker.

My grandpa’s old, white, rundown house with the peeling paint was like a second home to me. With the wood shavings scattered across the floor and the oak boards stacked in every empty space. His house was the best place for a kid to get lost in. When you walk in through the side door your attention would immediately be pulled in every different direction, examining each type of gadget, antique, book and misfit toy possible. It was as if everything was so out of place yet simultaneously had a home. There were always various projects in the workshop of whatever we decided to take on that week.

His house always had an aroma of sweet wood and cherries. You could walk in and hear the crackle of a radio turned to his favorite debate station, and see him pouring over his books studiously. You can reach out in any way and feel the textured surfaces of smooth wooden, antique tables and rough wooden boards that he loved having in his house.

I had a month long project going with him. It was a raspberry stand for my dolls. He went to great lengths to ensure that my dolls Tiffany and Elizabeth would find it suitable for their upscale lifestyle. We even gave the stand a name: Reilly’s Rockin Raspberry Stand.

I didn’t only love the inside of my grandpa’s house, it was the outside too. My brother, sister and I had built a fort with him in the wooded area to the right of his driveway. We used wooden pallets for the walls and floors. We lined the walls with empty lemonade cartons for decorations. We would hide in the fort and my grandpa would come outside and pretend to not know where we were. He would tell us that only the three smartest “geezers” could see the fort.

His backyard was like a maze, with boulders, big stone walls and aimless ditches. There was a big cement hole in his backyard, about the size of an olympic swimming pool where the old barn used to be. Trust me, you couldn’t miss it. It was filled to the brim with branches and leaves. When it snowed the leaves would get covered with a thick layer of snow. We would jump in and bounce on the frozen leaves.

In the winter he would shovel snowbanks for us to go sliding down or do flips off of. He loved bringing us to the biggest hill in Kensington to go sledding down. My siblings and I weren’t the only ones who loved the sledding excursions. During the spring he would bring us outside in the middle of a thunderstorm and run through the pouring rain, splashing through puddles and having mud fights. Summertime would include walks to the town pool, as he would come barreling down the waterslides right after us. Eating orange freezer pops late at night while listening to stories was a common occurrence. Throughout the fall he would rake us leaf piles so we could flop into them and bury each other beneath all the leaves. He would take us to Cider Hill and help us find the biggest apples. Even if it meant climbing the trees to get them. He would run through the rows of trees with us and come flying down the big hill right behind us. No matter the season he always knew how to have fun with us.
I could always count on seeing his friendly face at every gymnastics meet, soccer game and swimming race. He was always there for us. He was the one that taught me how to tie my shoes. He was the one who taught me how to ride a bike. He was the one who was always cheering me on no matter what.

I think that’s why it felt so earth shattering when everything changed.

He hadn’t contacted us in a few days which was strange considering that he normally called every night. My mom stopped at his house to see if he was there. His white van was parked in the driveway like usual. Everything on the inside was messy as always. Nothing was out of place, except for him. She was so worried, debating  whether or not to file a missing person’s report. Three days later we got a call from the hospital. The nurse on the phone explained that she had been trying to find someone to contact, but they didn’t have an emergency contact number for him. She needed my mom to come to the hospital immediately.

I didn’t find out until the next morning that my grandpa suffered a massive stroke, affecting his speech, his ability to walk and was no longer capable of eating or going to the bathroom on his own. He had been paralyzed from the neck down on the right side of his body. He was able to follow conversations between others but he was no longer capable of speaking. I remember driving to the hospital not realizing the significance of what had happened until it was right in front of me. The first time I saw him I understood how much my life would transform from the moment on.

As we walked down the gloomy hospital hallway to room A253, thoughts were flooding my mind. They mainly alternated between “Is it really as bad as I think it’s going to be?” and “He is strong he can fight through everything.” My emotions would vary from feeling sad and furious that this happened to him yet hopeful that he could overcome it. He was the strongest, bravest person I knew and I looked up to him for everything.

We rounded the final corner into his room. The curtain was drawn between the two patients in the room. We couldn’t see him at first but as we pulled the curtain back I was astounded that a change this drastic could happen in just four days. Four days that were normal to others but life changing to me.

He sat motionless in bed, a drained and exhausted expression on his face. You could see the fear and sadness in his eyes. He tried to smile as he saw his three grandchildren but was only capable of turning half of his mouth upwards. He sat with his right arm and leg elevated to try and take some of the pressure off of his muscles. He got sharp pains and cramps throughout the right side of his body that couldn’t be helped. He now required round the clock care. That’s how it was for the next five years.   He was soon moved to the nursing home in Exeter so that we could visit him more frequently. At first, the speech therapist and the physical therapist thought that there was a good chance he could regain some of the functions in the right side of his body as well as make out basic sounds eventually. They tried different types of therapy for a year. There was progress, but not enough to continue. We tried to help regain some of the muscles in his hand by having him write out short sentences on a whiteboard. After writing one sentence, his hand would begin to cramp up causing excruciating pains. It was too hard for us to keep putting him through that pain, so we stopped.

It was always hard to see him on his bad days. Some days the arthritis in his right hand would act up severely, causing him to have unceasing cramping pains. Other days he would just be sad or irritable. I always knew no matter the day, that when my brother, sister and I walked in the room we could always get his face to light up with joy.

When he was having a good day he loved to go outside and get out of the stagnant hallways of the nursing home. He loved watching us play in the grass, doing handstands, passing a football or just goofing off. He cherished the moments that he got to see us laugh and be happy but he missed being involved in every step of our lives.
As hard as it was to see my grandpa in this condition, his youthful presence was still with me every moment of every day. On January 9, 2015 he passed away. It was a little over five years since he had the stroke. My grandpa was only 77 years old when he died and lost his freedom at the age of 72.

Him passing away so young meant missing out on major parts of our lives. He wasn’t able to see my sister graduate, or my brother play in his first varsity football game. He didn’t see me on my first day of high school.  He couldn’t be there for the major milestones in our lives or the simple everyday things. He had to miss out on watching us grow up, and become the people that we are today. He helped shape us into who we are, he just wasn’t able to see it.

I think that going through the experience so young has taught me to value the people that I have in my life and not take them for granted. Once people are gone you appreciate everything they’ve done for you so much more, even the simplest of things. You think about all the times that they were there for you and reflect on how much those moments meant. I didn’t truly understand this message until my grandpa had his stroke.  He was no longer the person that I had grown accustomed to my entire life. It made me think about everything that he had done for me, even the simplest of things like building me Reilly’s Rockin Raspberry Stand.