My grandfather passed away yesterday at the grand age of ninety-seven years young. His name was Milas Douglas Thomas. I called him Opa.
I thought about what I remember most about him. I remember he loved trains, having worked on the railroad. If he ever told a you a story about trains, his face would light up and you couldn’t help but absorb a bit of that magic.
My grandparents once lived in Saskatoon, not far from a train bridge that crosses the South Saskatchewan river across the street from their house.
I can remember visiting them as a child and hearing the train whistle, and the rhythm of the wheels on steel tracks from the house as it crossed the bridge. I love the sound of a train.
Even today when it’s quiet and I’m in bed at night I can hear trains as they come into or go out of the city, and I’m always reminded of my childhood and the trains in Saskatoon, and ultimately of my grandfather who gave me a love for trains.
Rest in peace Opa.