To my Grandpa up in heaven:
I’m sure it was no surprise to you when we decided to name our son after you, after all you were the greatest man I’d ever known. When I think about all the stories I will tell him about his great grandpa Hank and why we chose his middle name to be Henry, I always go back to planting a garden, picking tomatoes off the vine and rubbing them on our shirts. Being your taste tester was my favorite job.
To have a grandparent leave you at 11 years old is tough. The impact of what’s happening around you doesn’t even sink in fully. It’s years later when you truly realize what you lost and what you continue to miss.
I try to cling to your words. To the little sayings and mannerisms that made you who you were: The strong, fearless provider who held the entire family together without any of us knowing it.
I think maybe that’s what hurts the most. Now as a mother and an adult I realize that life is so short and so sweet and it is far too often we lose the most important people.
I know you can hear me and I hear you too sometimes, but boy what I would give to have even an hour with you now. I miss your sneaky sense of humor, your stern attitude and your whit most of all I think. I can’t pick up a card game and not think of playing Kings Corners around the table while grandma was cleaning up after dinner. I’ve searched high and low but no one can make pickles the way you could and the scent of a similar recipe brings me whirling back to an eight year old self, playing word puzzles and watching Cubs games while eating pickles right from the jar.
As I lay here wondering what it would be like if you were still here I can’t help but relish in all of the memories and things you taught my little mind that I will pass down to my grandkids someday. I cry because the pain of losing you is still so great, even though you’ve been gone more than half my life now. Then I smile, knowing you would say something like “why the hell are ya crying, you’ll see me again someday”. And you’re right, just not soon enough.
