He talked in a quiet voice as he showed us around. It was almost finished. An impressive building on a big lot. He walked us through rooms, bathrooms, playrooms and kitchens. Each new room, he asked us something. What do you think of the paint color? Aren’t these windows nice? This refrigerator is the nicest brand there is. He looked at us for our reaction to all of it. It was so unlike him, that it kind of unnerved me. He was the strong, silent type generally. He spoke more to us in that house, than he did in the following three days.

The flooring was still covered in plastic. The smell of fresh paint in the air. Each of the bedrooms was pained a different color. It was a hot day, but the AC wasn’t on yet. Every window in the place was open. There wasn’t any furniture, but he told us it was waiting to be delivered. Just waiting for the paint to dry, he said. He told us what kinds of furniture he had for each room.

Then he showed us a few other small hidden rooms. One was the tornado shelter, which is common in Texas. The other was a panic room. A room that could be locked on the inside. It had a phone, and shelving. There were gallon jugs of water in it, but nothing else yet. There was still lots of space on the shelves. It was the first time I’d heard of one (pre Jodie Foster movie) and the only time I’ve ever seen a real one.

I knew why it was there. I’d seen the bruises on my aunt. I remembered the night, two summers prior, when my mom and Grandpa left in an instant and came back a few hours later with my aunt and her four kids. All of whom were beaten and bruised. At that time though, my brother would have only been seven maybe and I don’t think he’d been old enough to get it. I knew what the house meant, what it stood for. I knew why he’d built it for free.

My brother didn’t. Grandpa explained it to him. He showed him the room. He explained why. Why the room needed to be there. Why the locks were on the inside. Why there was a phone in it, a phone that had it’s very own line. Why we would never see the house again. Why he would never talk about it in a newspaper, or bring it up at church or the Officer’s Club at lunch on Sunday.

It’s for the women and children, son. He choose his words carefully, but he was brutally honest. So only girls will be allowed here, he asked? Well no, some little boys too, I’d bet…but no men. Never any men, unless they are fixing things.

Well if no men can come in, why did you build this special room? Just in case. I built it, so that every woman and every child who ever comes here, can sleep a bit easier, knowing it’s here if they need it.

He did a lot of things wrong in his life, or so he’d tell you if you asked him. I wasn’t patient enough. I was too hard on your mom, on all my kids. I had a temper. I didn’t know how to be a dad. I didn’t know that just providing for them wasn’t enough. I could be an angry man on occasion. I’ve said dumb and rude things to your grandmother. He always told us, people aren’t perfect and he’d never been perfect. That he wasn’t perfect now, he’d never been perfect and he was sure he wouldn’t be tomorrow.

But women and children should always be safe.

My Grandpa, he’s been gone 21 months now. He died two weeks before Harrison was even born. But he made this world a safer place for as many people as he could. He left behind a legacy. Five daughters, one son. Fifteen grandchildren, too many great grandchildren to name. 350 people showed up to pay their last respects to the man, because he was that man. The man you could count on. The man who kept his word. The man who showed up for church early to see if anyone needed to be picked up. The one who showed up with groceries for a wife, when he knew the husband had taken off the week prior. The man who would take bikes that we outgrew, to children in the poorer parts of town. He was that man. The one who had forty rental houses and kept them all in pristine condition, as if each family who lived there were his own wife and children. If I’m in his town and meet someone, chances are, they either knew my Grandfather, or have at least heard of him. Oh you’re his granddaughter? Oh it’s so nice to meet you. Your Grandfather was a great man. Yes, that he was.

It’s always followed by a story of how he helped them out this one time, or how he helped out someone in their family this one time. Always.

He also left behind one beautiful shelter, one safe haven in this world, that wouldn’t have been here, if it weren’t for him.

I sometimes wonder why he showed it to us and no one else. My own mother never saw it. She knew about it, but he never took her to see it. I am not even sure my Grandmother ever saw it. Maybe it was just that day he happened to need to go there and he happened to have the two of us with him. Maybe he wanted to someone to understand and we were the most receptive. We were young enough to not be so jaded and think that he was wasting money, yet old enough to understand. Maybe we were just his favorites. Snort. It doesn’t matter, I’m just grateful that he showed us.

I know I write about him a lot. In these memory posts; in general. Outside of my mother though? He is the person who made the greatest difference in my life. I miss him. So, I write about him. To always remember.