Dear Grandpa Hiram,

Thank you for teaching me how to laugh, not only at your jokes, but at myself. You were able to make a joke out of practically anything and that is very admirable. I remember when you told us that when you were little you wanted to be a clown but your mother would not let you. You were always able to light up any room you stepped foot in.

Thank you for your crazy stories, whether they were true or not. You always had some interesting stories and I would question whether they actually happened.

Thank you for playing dominoes with me. I always hated being on the opposing team because you were practically a domino strategist. You were always able to tell who had which domino, which was beyond impressive. Being on the opposing team meant that we were going to lose.

Thank you for all of the races. When I was little I remember going to your apartment in Brooklyn every morning with my sister. There was a tree down the block where we would start, we would finish in front of your apartment. I remember you would always intentionally run slower to let my sister and I win.

Thank you for always being there to capture important moments. You used to always carry around your video camera to document milestones. I am forever grateful for that because now I can look back at all of the memories.

Thank you for teaching me the basics of baseball. The majority of my family are Mets fans, I was always one by association, but never really understood baseball. I got more into baseball from watching it with you in the 2015 season. You would explain different plays and tell us who your favorite players were. Now whenever I watch a game I will think about how you used to always call Jeurys Familia, "Family." Or how you would slam your fist on the couch whenever there was an error made by our team.

There are so many little things I'll miss about you. Like whenever we would ask you how you were, you would always reply, "comsi comsa." Or how whenever we went to give you a hug your hearing aids would chirp like crazy. Or the sound your cane would make upon entering a room.

Thank you for everything. You were practically my second father. You and grandma watched my sister and I whenever my parents had to work when we were younger. I am so lucky for all of these memories that I can reflect on forever. Rest in peace, grandpa Hiram.