He also had terrible O.C.D. and eventually lost his mind and died from lupus, but I never saw any of that. I never once thought he was weird. I think he must have hid that from me out of love. But it wasn't even his actions that touch me the most. It's something almost too simple to put into words. He smiled at me a lot. Like in this picture. He loved me and I knew he loved me because I could feel it. Rest in peace, Grandpa Hy.
My grandpa will not be remembered in any history books. He did nothing society particularly values. He sold suits in a modest men's clothing shop and listened to his wife verbally abuse him that he didn't have more ambition to give them a better life. I remember sleeping over their house on the softest mattress I had ever felt then waking up in the morning to a lavish breakfast of eggs, bagels, and cream of wheat. I have no memory of him ever scolding me or even raising his voice. Not once. He was nice to me and if I took his hat and put it on my head, he let me. He accepted me. My heart swells with love every time I think of him, but also sadness because: what little boy ever really shows his appreciation for his grandpa? It's only as an adult that I've come to realize just how great a man he really was.