When I was younger, the world was a simpler place. My childhood had been spent in happiness, with a grand amount of bonds between myself and my family, both close and distant members alike. I remember spending many days and nights at my grandparents home in Hayti, Missouri. There I spent time being a mischievous child, who despite always making an absolute mess of the house, always seemed to have the love of my grandparents.

They would take the time out of their busy days, my grandfather for instance, was constantly busy running a grocery store in the Heights. I would visit him everyday after school to his little grocery store on the way home. Every time my brother and I would see him, he'd have a smile on his face. He would always sit in this red leather stool, next to the shooting dice, and playing cards. I remember sitting in his lap, as he'd smoke a cigarette. That was one thing that grandpa always did, he'd always have a cigarette in his hand. When he wasn't at the store, he and my Uncle Cleo would raise a herd of cattle on the levy between Hayti and Caruthersville. I remember being scared of the cows at first, until I would walk out of my grandpa's truck and pet the cows.

While my grandfather worked at the store or raised his cattle, my grandmother would work on her flower beds, vegetable garden, made quilts, and kept the home tidy. She was a joker, always being able to make people laugh. My grandfather was the kind of person who wouldn't say to much, but when he did, everyone would listen. My cousin Ally, myself and my little brother Aaron were the youngest in the family, we'd always be over at their house on the weekends. It was an experience, I remember my brother and I being such a pests to my older cousin Ally. She'd play on her Playstation 2 in one room, whilst Granny would either be making quilts, watching the news, or cooking up some food for my grandfather and family.

The holidays were something of a fun time, as the entire family would converge on this one house, in the middle of nowhere. My family in Alabama, Tennessee, northern Missouri, and other places would all meet at my grandparents home. There they'd celebrate the holidays in true Brown family tradition, pool, cards, talking, watching the kids run around and have fun, and just radiate an overall feeling of merriment. One holiday, I remember my grandfather sitting with me in his favorite recliner to read a story to me. I believe I was five or six years old at that time. Though I don't really recall what the book was about, I do remember being near my grandfather and him taking time to read me a story.

I'll never forget the nights that I stayed there, it was like escaping from reality. Though, at the age of eight, reality would return. On November 21st, I went to visit my grandfather at my aunts home in Ripley County, MO. For the past couple of weeks, he had been ill. At the time I thought it was nothing more than a common illness, like the cold or something. I never expected him to look so sick, so beat up. Later in life, I realized that it was a combination of lung and brain cancer that had caused this illness.

The next day, I was back home and about to attend school. It was going to be an ordinary day, I would be ignored by the majority of my peers and would probably have to resort to causing a disruption for attention. However, something out of the ordinary occurred, as my step-cousin would approach me in the hallway to tell me two words, "I'm sorry". I kept asking her why she said that she was sorry, to which she would eventually tell me that my grandfather had passed away the night before, while I slept. I remember breaking down in tears, as my grandfather had passed away, leaving this world for the next.

I vaguely remember the visitation, or the funeral processions. I just remember the sadness the family had felt on those days. It was only after the funeral services, and the family following the hearse to the burial sight in Bloomfield, MO. There we all exited our cars and walked to this walled area, that had a lot of engraved writing on it. I had enough time to look at the writing to discover that it was a memorial wall, for fallen veterans. In addition to the memorial walls, there were flowers, and a carpet that was laid out, all leading to a pedestal.

Standing beside the carpet were two rows of men, dressed in odd uniforms that I never saw before, carrying rifles. After the the driver had parked the hearse, my grandfather's casket was picked up and slowly moved to the pedestal. I noticed that there were men dressed in uniforms, at first I though that they were law officers. That is, until I looked closer and saw that it said "US Army". After the casket was placed on the pedestal, the men backed away and waited a moment. Then, breaking the solemn silence was the sound of a man commanding the men to fire their rifles. Later in life, I found out that this was a military gun salute to fallen soldiers.

After a few moments, they stopped shooting, and the funeral services were done. I remember hanging around later, to see my grandfather off. Then, one of the riflemen came up to me and handed me something. It was one of the bullets that was fired from their rifles for the gun salute. I took it, holding it in my hands and knowing that it was something special. That bullet is still in my possession and is to this day one of my most valued treasures.

I never knew when I was younger, but he had served in the Second World War. Instead of serving in the European front, during the last moths of the war, he saw action in the Pacific. While I'm not sure what all he may or may not have seen, I do know some of the details, but it's not a complete timeline. According to his service record, he was a Military Police Officer (MP) for the United States Army. Aside from that, and one document for his service, I don't know what he did. Like many of the soldiers after the war, he never talked about it.

When my grandfather died, I could tell that my family had also changed. I didn't see most of my family as before, except on the rare Christmases that my family in Alabama would come to. The grocery store closed up shop, my uncles' felt like they couldn't keep the legacy that my grandfather had built. The cattle that he'd raised by the levee would also be gone, a remnant of the past.

There's a lot of things that I wish my grandfather could have taught me. I wished he could have seen me mature, and grow to be the individual I am today. I only hope that he could look at me, and be proud to know that I forged my own path in life. Though he has not been by my side in the physical world, to this day I still believe he is always by my side, watching me living. On this day, December 19th, 2016 my grandfather would be 92 years old, and he'd still be the toughest old man I ever knew. Thanks for being with me in my youth Grandpa, I hope that you've found the peace that you've so rightfully deserved.