My grandfather passed away last night, after being hospitalized with pneumonia. Given that he was in his late nineties, his death was not unexpected, but it still makes me sad. When I talked to my cousin this morning, she let me know that he went peacefully, and for that I am glad. He didn’t suffer, and enjoyed life with my aunt and uncle right until he got sick this week.

Poppy has always been an important part of my life. From the time that I was a little girl, I loved to visit my grandparents, where I would first cook with my grandmother, then listen to his stories and look at his pictures. He told me tales of his life in Poland; of the War when he was stationed all over; of joining his wife and meeting his sons in England when the war was over (they were six, and were born after he went to war!); taking the boat to Canada; settling first in Saskatchewan, then Kemptville, and eventually Ottawa… I would just sit and listen, taking it all in. He was a strong man, and I loved him very much.

Poppy spent his life taking photographs. It was his hobby, his passion. It drove my grandmother a little crazy at times, but he loved to wander the city and take pictures of everything that he saw. Then he would share the photos with his family. He bought me my first camera, a little point and shoot that had a great lens. He taught me how to use it and what to look for when I was taking pictures. We never really got out together to shoot, but he came to love seeing my pictures as much as I did his.

I miss him already.