I was a small, clumsy human being and I still needed to find out how to navigate the world. You carried me for the first few years of my life, always with a smile on your face. But one day (or was it the evening, I think the lights were on?), when we you were standing at the kitchen window, I asked you to pick me up and carry me, and you told me that I’m getting too heavy for you to carry me.

Perhaps I was looking for different way to be carried, because some time after that, I really wanted a pony. And you made it possible for me. You got me a Shetland pony and taught me how to take care of it. We got donkeys as well. And a few years after that, you got us all two horses. One of them was mine, and one of them was -sort-of- yours. I remember how you used to take good care of her, brushing and cleaning her. I remember how we took them to the farrier together, the smells and sounds of it. I remember how in the time before we got them, you took driving lessons, and learned to drive a horse carriage. And mostly, I remember how we all used to drive the carriage together through the forest. How excited and happy the horses were to go out. The smell of the forest. The dogs, being happy to sit in the back of the carriage. Those precious few years were the best years of my childhood. It was always like we were a normal, happy family for a short while, and I think the horses and the carriage was probably also one of the best times of your life.

You came to pick me up from kindergarten once with that big smile, but I didn’t even recognize it at first without the beard you still had earlier that day…

I remember that sometimes I just used to ride with you on the bus, sitting right next to you in the front seat, watching closely how you opened and closed the doors for the passengers at each stop. And how you chatted with the regulars. Sometimes you took me just for fun, and sometimes I was just happy to join you on your shift when I had to go to school anyway – even though it meant waking up at 4:45.

I was always fascinated when you sat at the kitchen table and took out the money box from the bus and did all the calculations for that. Back in a time, when you still had to pay your bus tickets with cash. Those money boxes were always fun to play with.

There were many, many evenings when we would just sit in front of the TV together, doing nothing in particular. Before those times, we often sat together with your mother, back when she was still alive. I was amazed how you could still understand her after all her strokes.

I remember how once or twice we visited your uncle and aunt. I only have very few, vague memories of them, but I remember them fondly, and I remember that you were fond of them.

I remember all the ‘big’ birthday parties that you celebrated, and how everyone of your siblings and cousins used to come together at these occasions. Your 50th, when I was just 10 years old. Your 60th, when I was 20. And your 70th, not so long ago.

One of the best times we spent together was in Texas, visiting my brother. I think it was the only time in my life that we went on some semblance of a vacation together. Vacations were not really a thing in our family, that’s probably why it felt so special. It was only 3 days that we spent together there, but these 3 days are so full of memories. Exploring Austin, the capitol, Fredericksburg, San Antonio, Houston, going to the weird stores, the weird junkyards, …

When you retired, you didn’t stop driving. Instead of the bus, you were now driving furniture for the neighbor. And when the furniture became to heavy, you were driving meat for the butcher. And between all that driving, you liked to drive the lawnmower once a week. You were always in motion. But age caught up with you eventually, and when you stopped driving… you stopped.

The last couple of years are full of the hardest and most difficult memories for me. Seeing you having stopped, lying there, unsure whether or not you can perceive me was so hard for me. So hard that I probably didn’t visit as often as I should have.

You taught me patience, punctuality and practical approaches. You taught me lot, and even tough we lived in different worlds, there were a lot of things we had in common. Being the quiet, observant type. Being inherently social despite being introverted. We never really talked much, and talking was never really a thing in our family. There are lots of things I probably should have said, which now rest in the ashes of the letter I wrote you, together with your ashes.

You spent 80 years minus three months in this world. I was there for half of it. What a long, long time, and how much the world, and our lives, have changed in those 80 years. What a lifetime.

I wonder where you are now, now that you are finally free from the stillness of the last few years. I like to imagine that you are reunited with our horses, driving the carriage through the forest peacefully, the dogs sitting beside you. Enjoying the smell of wood and pine as the sun shines through the tree tops, with only the sounds of the hooves, wheels and the birds chirping accompanying you.