Grandparents are pretty special, and I had a special kind of relationship with each of mine. They all, in their own unique ways, offered me guidance and love, compassion and grace, understanding and pride. I learned from the best there was. My grandparents were hard-working, giving, honest and humble people.

I had them all in my lives for much longer than most, and my son also had a relationship with all but one who left us before Michael was born. Where there is life, there is also death. And unfortunately, my family, my brother and I, have lost our final grandparent.

Last week, after a long struggle with cancer and all that encompasses it, my grandpa Richard D. Ott took his last breath. His wife, Doris, whom he married when I was a teenager, was by his side, and told my mom that he left us quietly and peacefully. I’m thankful that he’s no longer hurting.

Grandpa Richard lived the farthest away. He had moved to North Dakota to become the director of the North Dakota School Board’s Association before I was born. But despite being a day’s drive away, he still made time to spoil me some.

When I was nine, I took a trip up there, by myself on the airplane, to see him. There’s an old video somewhere of this trip, but I don’t need to see it to remember the good times we had while I was there. He taught me how to use a steak knife, and he showed me how to use a walking stick to keep the bears in Glacier National Park at bay. With him by my side, I learned to love and appreciate horses for their beauty and strength, and I still wish I had continued riding.

He loved to tell jokes, though they were the kind that instead of laughing, I’d just roll my eyes. He was a teacher, and an encourager, and I knew he was always reading my words each week, as he was the first person to subscribe when my family took over this paper in 2012.

He was also a little stubborn, and even in death he made sure to get the last word in for his obituary. So, I’ll offer him that courtesy here. My grandpa, in his own words, left with dignity and grace, and we will surely miss him and his corny jokes.

Greetings:
When this is read, I will be wherever it has been determined that I should go following life in this world.
I was born September 14, 1933, in a suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, and ended up with the name Richard D. Ott after a series of adoption procedures.
Thanks to everyone for an exciting and satisfying life. Many people, even some I didn’t know, gave me so much. Thanks to all you kind folks.
To my cherished friends and family, I offer a huge bouquet of gratitude.
Special thanks to my oldest daughter, Becky, and her family, and to my youngest daughter, Joni, and her family. From the day each of you girls came along, you’ve been sheer delight.
Then there’s my wife, Doris. Words can never express my appreciation for all she has done for me, and for all she has meant to me. Living with her has been an ongoing courtship.
I’ve asked that there be very little commotion to mark my departure. (But I probably have little to say about that now.) However, rather than having folks take a lot of time away from work, travel a long distance, buy flowers, send cards, establish scholarships, etc., I’d prefer that you go out to a nice restaurant, enjoy a big meal, give me a positive thought and go about your lives.
If you feel compelled to do something beyond this, send a donation to an animal shelter of your choice. Many of my furry friends live there.
May your time on Earth be as happy and rewarding as mine was.
Richard D. Ott.