James Edward "Jim" Hare, Sr.

This summer I spent time at home (Illinois) with my family. When I make it back to the Midwest, I make it a point to head north to Madison, Wisconsin. Most of my father’s family resides there. This recent trip was no exception. I knew it was likely my last time seeing my grandfather, my last living, biological grandparent. His health was declining and he’d spent many decades on earth. During our visit, I reached for his hand for, what would be, our final handshake. At 90+ years he gave me the firmest handshake I’ve ever received. I looked him in the eye and said, “that’s quite the handshake!” Without hesitation he replied, “how else would you shake someone’s hand?!” I will miss rare, simple moments like this. Rest easy, Grandpa. We’ll see each other in the hereafter and it will be a glorious reunion. From Clifford James Edward Hare, grandson

When your first wife died, you could have easily given up on your career and your family. You didn't. You kept working, and you provided for your children, even though your second heart had left you behind. You were successful; everyone who's heard the name Owl's Nest and eaten Owl's Nest cheese has known you, even if only in the smallest way. You were, I've been told, a man of few words, but your actions always spoke to the truth of your character. You were admirable, you were courageous, but above all, and what I will always be grateful for the most, is you were my father's father. When his mother died, you remained a constant, however distant you might have been just to make enough money and keep your family above water. My father loved you, and never stopped loving you, even when that meant you couldn't be there for his successes and failures, when he was alone and scared and just wanted someone to hold him and say, "Everything is going to be alright." He knew why you were away, and he never resented you for it. My father loved you so much he took a job at your restaurant at twelve years old just so he could be around you more. If there's anything I've learned from my father, you give your life and your time to those who deserve it-- and family always deserves it. I'm sorry I didn't know you as he did. I'm sorry I wasted so much time not knowing you, and staying away when I had the opportunity to know you. I remember the car trips we took down to Arkansas to see you and your second wife when I was just a little boy. I remember the house you used to live in, and I remember my father's excitement when you finally decided to move up to Wisconsin and be with your son and his family, living just fifteen minutes away. I remember driving over with my father when I was getting ready to take my driver's test, and telling you, embarrassed, when I failed that first time, and telling you, proud, when I passed the second time. I remember when my father would help you to the bathroom, and he'd tell you, "You've got to look up, Dad. If you want to see what's outside the window, you can't keep looking at your feet." I remember that last Thanksgiving, just last month, when you wanted to get out of the wheelchair and sit on the couch with everyone. It took nearly a hundred years for time to finally catch up with you, and you took it like a champion. Only during that last year, those last few months, did things really start to get bad. And they got bad. But that century, even when things got bad, were a sign of your tenacity, your strength of will, and that elemental Hare stubbornness that your children and your children's children now share. I'll miss you, Grandpa. Without you, my father wouldn't be half the man he is today, and your grandchildren wouldn't have been blessed with the best dad in the world. I hope you know, even now you've passed away, how much everyone wishes you were still here and could have one more day with you. I love you Grandpa. Though the stars may go out, we never forget their shine. From Zach Hare, grandson

It is with deep sorrow that I write these words. Praying for you Jim. May God's abundant mercy and grace flow over you and the entire family. So appreciated your dad and know he will leave a large hole in so many lives. May Kate and I offer our deepest condolences to you from our home here in Uganda. Praying God's comfort fills and holds you, my friend. Matt