Death as an afterthought

I meant to make note earlier of my grandfather dying last week. He was my biological grandfather. He lived halfway across the country. He moved there with my grandmother, who was his wife, and my mom and uncle. And then somewhere in the timeline that same year I think, my grandmother and her kids moved back here, and he stayed out there and married someone else. I think I've visited with him about a dozen times when he had some reason to come back to PA. He gave me a little stuffed animal dog which I loved and passed on to Sam. It sleeps on his bed. He also gave me a King James bible. I think that's about it. He was a nice enough sort. From his obituary I gathered that he was pretty successful and active.

In another obituary two columns over was our friend Larry's brother. Larry has probably the craziest story out of everyone Mark's introduced me to. Something along the lines of Bonnie & Clyde, only it was him and his brother, and in their armed robbery of banks I don't believe they hurt a soul. So Larry has some incredible stories of police chases and prison life. He shows up at the house on random occasions. Sometimes he brings a girlfriend and he wants to show her the animals. If we're eating Mark always tries to make him eat something, though he's just as likely to drink or smoke his meal, if you catch my drift. He takes care of his elderly mother. He's always polite and kind to me. I remember coming home from work one Summer when Lily was just a toddler, and there was Larry reading her stories under the tree in the back yard.
So one of his brothers passed away and what caught me in the obituary was that they made sure to mention that he enjoyed 'hot rods and small puppies.' And I wasn't really sure why that was significant to me, but then I realized that I was sort of touched more by this stranger's obituary than my own 'grandfather's.'
So, that's all. Just wanted to make a note.