My grandfather, mom’s dad, passed away the night after Christmas. He was 86.

Grandpa was many things: A family man and a pipeline welder; a good ol’ boy and a farmer; an adventurer and teller of tales (some dubious, some hilarious) with a lucky streak a mile wide. I entered his story when he had already retired from his welding career and was living in Rainbow, just east of Fallbrook, tending his eclectic grove of citrus, avocados and macadamia nuts, to name a few. I remember climbing into the passenger seat of his maroon, 80-something Cadillac on hot days and driving into town for an ice cream — he called it “that Thrifty feelin’.” And, most of all, I remember his smile — that genuine, unmistakable symbol of a life well lived.

On Jan. 17, we held a memorial service at our church and then headed to Riverside National Cemetery, across I-215 from March Air Force Base, where he is buried.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. We’ll miss you.