People and places: In the end, that's what each of us leaves behind. For my grandfather, he left me and my family along with our special place, Charleston, S.C.

If you want to get specific, there's a perfect stretch of beach 20 minutes outside of Charleston called Seabrook Island, which is where he and I enjoyed life's moments. Of course, I was too young at the time to know it, but he was teaching me things that I am just now learning.

Feeding sea gulls by hand and letting the sea foam tickle our toes, I would ask him about the ocean, the moon, baseball, studying and girls. Each still remain a mystery to me, just like he told me they would.

He'd drink his special "lemonade" while I chugged a bottle of soda, and we would walk — sometimes for miles, other times only minutes, but we'd walk.

I later discovered this was to get me out of the house so everyone else would get a break and so we could talk. His words were chosen carefully and deliberately, reflecting the scientific mind that created patents for Westinghouse and took him all over the world.

His patience with my never-ending questions and talking still amaze me, especially when I watch my son talking with my mom and dad, who are equally patient. It probably comes with being a grandparent.

I remember marveling at his vivid description of a place in Charleston called the Angel Oak: "an oak tree that is older than Christ and whose branches are so old, they literally touch the ground and come back up."

A 25-foot circumference and 17,000 square feet of shade make it easy to get lost in dreams and memories, as each limb has a story to tell. My visits to Charleston soon included the Angel Oak, where I would reflect and introduce my kids to one of God's coolest creations.

My grandfather is the Angel Oak.

His limbs extend so far beyond his final resting place that it would take volumes to tell the entire tale. Additionally, there are some things I want to keep as my own.

But it's worth noting one of his countless limbs is still in Western Pennsylvania, where Westinghouse still refers to some of his inventions. And right next door in Eastern Ohio, his name is in the wrestling archives as one of the greatest amateur wrestlers to come from that state.

A military man, he met my grandmother while she was serving pie at the Grove City Diner and he was attending ROTC. He kept eating pie so he could talk to her, and he eventually asked her on a date. The rest is history; 65 years of marital history if you're keeping score.

The tree that is his life has deep roots to match the ever-expanding shade from his growing branches, which now include several great-grandchildren.

Big Pa was the first and only person I have known that could wiggle his ears. The thought of it still makes me smile.

He died last week.

As his oldest grandchild, I was honored to deliver a brief message about all he meant to me. But how can I summarize 40 years worth of knowledge, love, history and fun while fighting through selfish desires to still have him here?

I can't. But to watch one of my heroes fight the endless fights that come with being in your mid-80s is, well, scary. Here's a guy who fought a war, married young, traveled the world and raised a functional family without complaining. Yet eventually, he crumbled under the inevitable "he got old."

That's something each of us faces, and it's scary.

But knowing he's watching while I type this brings reassurance: reassurance knowing my past with him will continue to shape my future decisions. His patience permeates my body now, and his natural curiosity is something each of my children inherited.

He lives on in each of my family members, and I hope that as he reads these words, he's smiling and knowing what a lasting impression he has had, and will continue to have, on me.

I will miss you, Big Pa, but I know you're where you need to be and not feeling any more pain. I love you.

Christian Ola, a community columnist for the Butler Eagle, resides in Mars with his wife, son and daughter and can be reached at christianolaaol.com and through his website, www.christianola.com.