It was just over a week ago that I received one of those phone calls no one wants to get - one of those calls that, even when you're prepared, still tends to knock you upside the head and throw you into an emotional tailspin. Someone close to you has passed away.

I this case it was my grandpa. 

At 89, he had been in ailing health for the last few weeks and I had been prepared by my mom (it was her father) that the end was drawing near. The last couple weeks, every time the phone rang at night, I secretly cringed. Then, July 5, the call came. He had passed away peacefully.

I'm not a child and death is nothing new but this was my last grandparent. It seemed to felt the hardest.

My grandpa was always mistaken by those who didn't know him as being a LOT younger than his years. He was a bundle of energy and extremely self-sufficient. Up until three years ago, when he had a minor stroke, he lived alone on the farm he grew up on. It wasn't an easy life but he loved the farm and tending to it.

As a child, I loved it when he'd take us down to the creek to wade or to fish in one of the ponds. He always had a dog and was a foster parent to some of the mangiest farm cats I've ever seen. He was the only elderly person I ever knew who drove a four-wheeler too fast. In the last week, I found out he'd wrecked it more than once. A daredevil - I'm not surprised in the least:)

Prior to the funeral, my mom asked me to print a recent photo I took of her and my grandpa at Christmas. I dug through the album (yep, that old-school photo album) and pulled one out. As I glanced through the other photos taken that winter day, I thought to take the whole book with us for the funeral as Grandpa was in several of the photos. We framed three for final display.

During the days following his death, I remember my mom saying more than once how glad she was we took photos that day. I wish now we'd have taken more.

This will always be one of my favorite photos of my Grandpa. I know composition-wise it isn't the world's greatest photo but right now that doesn't matter. This is how I'll always remember him - young beyond his years and still cracking jokes.

With a lump in my throat, I put this photo back in its sleeve in the album this weekend, knowing it and he are safe and sound.

You may wonder what the point of this post is. It's simple - photos are important.

Our 2-year-old will never remember her great-grandparents. My grandpa was the only one alive at the same time she was.

Thanks to photos, she'll know the face and the stories of my grandpa and those who passed before him.