I never doubted you.

Thirteen years ago you came into my life. I was unsure, tenuous, the new kid in the family. Entering on the coatails of one of the most hideous divorces that I have certainly ever seen, a bitter ex wife who let nothing be, which for your family was a true scandal. Your quiet, staid, unpretentious, wasp family. 
Although no formal announcement had yet come, it was thought that I was to be your oldest son's new wife. Me, with my history, my four children, my baggage; me, who the ex wife of the man who DID become my husband, your son, called "that woman, that homewrecker" both untrue accusations, both said after much alcohol had been consumed; two habits of hers that were later seen as this ex's favorite pastime, bad mouthing me, and drinking--a lot too much.
You knew, so did Ginna, your wife, my husband's mother, and in fact, it wasn't until SHE was present for one of the ex's tirades at another of your son's homes, and she slammed her hand on a table and stated with clear expression that it was to STOP! NOW! that it did finally stop; that the rest of the family decided that it might be a good idea to take a step back from her, respect my husband and I and no longer invite her instead of me. You were behind that, because like me, you were never one to keep what was on your mind to yourself.
I loved you so dearly, and I think that it was reciprocated, because at times, as did Ginna, you parented me in far better, more kindly and loving ways than my own father from whom I was long estranged ever could.
Because you accepted my children into your family without compunction, you were kind and interested, something else that my father wasn't really. You took great interest when we discovered that Robbie was drawing and writing like a rabbit, you sent him expensive pencils, books on art and on writing. When Annie and Bailey were playing other peoples (including your's) pianos, you sent us a piano, and money for this child who was not your grandchild to take lessons with. And when she didn't, you said not one word.
You were the backbone of our family, and I am one of the "H.......'s" more than I was ever a member of my family of origin or the family that I was previously married to. 
In my marriage to your son, I have never, ever felt safer, which led to my unavoidable breakdown, and though some of your children refuse to understand what you told me was without a doubt understandable given my childhood, you not only talked openly with me about it, which some don't know, you also never stopped respecting me. You even told me that you were proud of my attempts to make amends to people so unkind that they did nothing but discuss what I was trying to do in unkind ways with one another, in front of you, when I was not present. You warned me about that, you even told them what you felt, how disgusted you were, embarrassed, by their behavior. You will never know what that means to me, because there is no way for me to verbalize the depth of my feelings.
You will never, ever understand the way that you made my husband feel when because he knew that he had to stop drinking, and because he was struggling so hard with it, you got behind him, and gave him powerful support by telling him that when you found out what was happening with that, you quit drinking yourself, in his honor. You don't know that you were the one who took the struggle away from him, because when he heard what you'd done, he was so moved that he just put it behind him and never looked back; 12 years ago.
You had a capacity for deep love, one that I saw while looking at your wedding pictures one day with Ginna. She stopped at particular picture and got a look on her face that I'd never seen before.  The picture was of the two of you looking out the back window of the car that you were leaving the church in, you weren't looking out the window though, you were looking at Ginna with the most meaningful, passionate look of love that I have ever seen any man give to a woman. That picture taught me so much about love, and about your son.
He is very like you. He is sensitive, he fears as you did, he is a hardworking man who would give all that he had to another if he thought that they'd need it. He is a man who, for just that reason, was raked over the coals of manipulation during his divorce; losing his house, his savings, his pension, all to a woman who'd promised you and his brother that she would never take his house from him in the divorce, and then did. You never spoke to her again, not for any reason. That gave my husband a lot of his self respect back, and I never loved you more than I did when I realized what you had done.
There is so much that can be said of you, that you may not have been much of a hand's on Dad, but no Father loved his children more than you did. Your capacity for love was so deep and so easily hidden beneath your bravada of curmudgeon. You were no curmudgeon, you were just tired. For a long time, years, before yesterday, you told all of us that you'd lived your life, that you were tired, that you wanted out.
You were strength, balance, a wink, an outspoken man. You were ninety three years old, you were uncomfortable, you were deaf, and it was getting worse. You hated that, you disliked your discomfort, and the thought of becoming burdensome to others, those whom you loved, was unconscionable to you.
And yesterday, you left us.
In a note that I got from Ginna after you passed away, she said to me that we must not grieve for you slipped away peacefully and in so doing had your greatest wish granted.
Well, we're grieveing, although we don't begrudge you your desire to leave this earth because we know that it wasn't a desire to leave us. It still makes us sad, bereft to think that we'll never see or talk to you again. You'll never gruffly rub my back, or smile at me with your eyes again. We are human, and we will miss the many things that you added to our lives.
Yesterday, my husband ran the dishwasher with the same load in it twice. He also slept this morning for three hours longer than usual. He is not the same, he looks lost, he will grieve his loss, you, as I did for my mother, for years. It will get better, but it's going to take longer than he realizes. He will have the support that he needs. I couldn't disrespect either of you by holding that back.
You will always be with us, with me, and you live on in your grandsons. Jessie will continue to try and make you proud of her, long after she graduates from Law School.
And I may start to play the piano again, in your honor, in memory of you for whom I would never play because I feared that I wouldn't meet the bar that you set.
Thank you for giving my husband, my children and me all that you did. We are better for it.
We had the Gold Standard of Dads, of grandfathers.
We will take very good care of Ginna now that you aren't here, but you knew that. You made us strong enough, aware; and you better than anyone knew what we are capable of.
I will never, ever forget you.
I will always love you dearly.
I am better for having been loved by you, and you will never, ever leave my heart.
Thank you Bud; for everything.