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By Carey Reeder | Managing Editor

Nothing can prepare someone for sudden loss. It is abrupt, numbing and life changing. On May 2, I rushed back to North Carolina to be with my grandfather for his final moments. A seven-hour drive done in six, I made it in time to spend an hour with him.

The feelings are weird for me because it feels like he was taken from me too soon. He lived in Martinsburg, West Virginia all of my life, but we moved him to North Carolina as he got older to care for him. By that time, I was already in Alabama, but the times I got to go home and see him for those few years are some of the moments I’ll remember the most about Pop.

Born in Baltimore, Maryland, on Aug. 26, 1942, my grandfather lived a life of service. He served in the United States Navy after high school before returning home and working as a firefighter in Anne Arundel County at Earleigh Height Fire Department in Maryland. He also spent time as a police officer for Baltimore City, and he ended his work career as truck driver for Preston and Hoffman Trucking.

I remember calling him when I was a kid while he was running a load up through the New England area, or him bringing the truck down to North Carolina on occasions. But no matter what time of the year me and Pop got to talk, the Baltimore Orioles always came up. He loved God, his family and the Orioles.

When they arrived in Baltimore in 1954 my grandfather was only 11 years old. If he didn’t watch every game, he at least knew what the score was before bed that night for 71 years. Even till his final days he critiqued lineup cards, fielding and expressed his reasons why he did not like a certain player. There would be times our family would be out to dinner, and I would look up to see him staring at me.

“What?”

He would shake his head in disgust, “They’re terrible.”

No filter, just tell it like it was, that was my grandfather.

May 3 was the first Orioles game that Pop was not here for. But the last one he was here for, they won 3-0. I made sure those highlights were played for him before he slipped off to his skybox seats over Camden Yards.

The tough circumstances offered some much-needed relief with my family from West Virginia coming down to be with us. After we ate our final meal together, we gathered in the parking lot to talk once more before everyone tried to go back to their normal life routines. I looked over the restaurant and saw a beautiful orange sunset while we talked. I could only think that he is already starting to have his way up there painting the sky orange for us.

After a full life of service, the biggest service he did was be the best grandfather I could ask for.

Love and miss you, Pop.

Go Birds.