Dear Grandpa,
I miss you. That's an obvious statement to make but I feel like it's a good place to start. That's what you and grandma would always put on your cards. “Love and miss you, XOXO.” Now whenever holidays or special events come around, there's a blank spot where grandma would put your name for you.
I miss getting 10 page letters from you in ALL CAPS. You would tell me about Florida or your travels or what you've been cooking lately. You made me eager to check the mail to see if I had anything from you. You sent me recipes to try at home or pictures from your time in the war. You taught me that travel is like “putting polish on metal,” but for your soul.
I hate that it's becoming difficult to remember the sound of your voice. It had been so long since I came to visit that sometimes, I feel like I can still pretend that you’re just still in Florida.
I regret not going to see you in those final weeks. I had an opportunity to and I wasted it. Part of me thinks I didn't go because I didn't want to believe you were dying. I didn't want there to be some dramatic final visit because this wasn't the end. You were going to get better. By the time we realized this really was it, it was too late. No one would let me see you because seeing you bedridden shouldn't be my last image of you. Despite their best interests, I still wish I had. I wish is could have been there for my dad when he lost his last biological parent. I wish I had called you more.
It’s been a year. You come across my mind a lot more than I initially thought you would. Every time I’m downtown, and I’m staring at the blaring red sign of The Biltmore, I remember you. Every time I walk by my bookshelf and see the hollowed out book filled with part of your ashes (which was a really weird present to receive post-your death) I remember.
The hardest moment of your death came at my graduation. Grandma sent a card of course, and she wrote about how proud you would be if you were here. I think you and grandma would have come up to see me graduate if it weren’t for the circumstances.
I hope that wherever you are, you’re at peace. Maybe that’s with my biological grandma, or maybe that’s cooking, or maybe it’s nothing at all. Love and miss you.
Your “Sweetheart,”
Marisa
