[muh–voo r-neen, –vawr-, –vohr-]
noun, Irish English.
- darling; dear.
Since I can remember, my grandpa has called me “Precious” and I’ve always loved it. He has this voice like the owner of the Beast in Sandlot, otherwise known as James Earl Jones. It’s hymnic and deep and soothing. He’s strong and handy and smart. When he had a stroke two and a half years ago and lost his short term memory, he did not call me Beth anymore, but Precious stuck and I knew deep down he knew me. I may not have been Grandpa’s mavoureen, but I will always be his Precious.
My dear grandpa passed away on Friday night. I feel so lucky to have had him around for thirty years of my life…because my grandpa George was extraordinary. He climbed trees with us, he sat around campfires and dreamed with us, he challenged us and was a teacher at heart, always asking us specific questions about hummingbirds or pelicans and expecting us to look up the answers in our Encyclopedias.
He loved the Lord. This brings tears to my eyes; he was crazily faithful. He wanted all of his kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids to know the joy that his Savior brought to him. He succeeded in this. Though we may not all be conservative Republicans, by gosh, we know the joy of the Lord. Thank you, Grandpa. It’s unlike any other joy I’ve ever experienced.
He loved my mavourneen of a grandma with all he had for sixty-three years. Sixty-three years. Whoa.
My grandpa was the kind of person that neighborhood dogs flocked to. If that doesn’t say much about his character, I don’t know what does. Pal would’ve loved him.
George Grady Hardin, Sr. was about family, laughter, nature, travel, books, and Florida Gator football. And those little Hershey dark chocolate almond nuggets. What a life he led.
He helped raise my dad, who is the most selfless and caring man I’ve ever known. My grandfather left his mark on all of his thirteen grandkids and six great-grandkids. He was well-respected. He had a servant’s heart. He wanted me to find a man so badly. He talked about it endlessly after his stroke, when we’d sit in the rocking chairs for hours and repeat our conversations. I will cherish this time together but to be honest, Grandpa, it’s partly your fault I haven’t found the right one. You are a lot to live up to.