My Grandfather was one of the biggest blessings I have ever had in my life. My Grandfather was many things such as a WW2 Navy Veteran, a Deacon in the Catholic Church, and the nicest guy you'd ever meet; but most importantly he was my best friend. I have been going back and forth on whether or not I wanted to write this article for weeks, but I have decided that it is finally time.

I am not really sure where to start with this so I guess the best place would be the beginning,

We first met on March 26, 1995, in Roxborough Hospital in Philadelphia. It was there that we locked eyes for the first time and we both knew how lucky we were. A few months later you baptized me into the Catholic church in front of our friends and family. You would always come over to see us because you were only a few streets away. I would sit on your lap to watch t.v. and dip my bagel into my tea, just like you used to do. Everyone thinks it's weird, but I think it's delicious.

When I was five years old, Mom, Dad, Tyler, and I moved from Philadelphia to Royersford. The first day we moved in you came to visit us, and the next day you came back with all of your stuff and moved in. I remember I was so excited that I would get to live with my best friend. Throughout the years we would pull weeds together, watch movies, play catch, clean the house, and do everything as a team. You even taught me how to play the drums, and without that, I don't know what my life would be like. We were best buddies, but that didn't mean you wouldn't correct me when I was wrong. You always had a way of showing me the right thing to do without raising your voice. I never wanted to disappoint you and I would always do what you would think was right.

As the years went on we both got older and we began to drift apart. I was getting involved with different activities and I was not home as often. I remember that you would call down to me from upstairs every morning before to say goodbye before I went to school. I didn't think much of it then, but it means the world to me now. As I was growing up I noticed how you were getting older. You didn't get up as quick as you used to, you started sleeping a lot more, and you were starting to lose your memory a little. It used to make me really sad, but I believed you were invincible. That is until the night you had your first of many strokes. You were sitting at the kitchen table clearly disoriented when mom and dad decided you needed to go to the hospital. I remember going outside crying because I thought I was going to lose you. Mom and dad walked you outside to the car and I sat in the back seat with you. I remember talking to you and asking you questions to keep you awake all the way to the hospital. That was the first of many times I would have to do that.

Eventually, it was time for you to move into a nursing home, for your own health and safety. It was hard saying goodbye to you. You were just across the hall from me for almost 13 years and it felt weird having you miles away. I tried to get down to visit you when I could, but again life got in the way. Over the last year, your health took a sharp decline and the fear that I was going to lose you began to grow. Then over the last few months, it was clear that your time was coming to an end. I remember my mom receiving several calls about your declining health and seeing the sadness in her eyes. It was all starting to become real.

Two weeks before you died the family came down to visit you. The ride down to see you felt different, almost like I knew it would be the last time. Your eyes were closed for most of the visit, but we kept talking to you. When your eyes were open it was clear that you did not really know what was going on. Except for one brief moment when I looked at you and said "Hey Pop, it's me Ryan" and all of a sudden your eyes became clear, and that signature smile came across your face as you said "Who's that, my buddy Ry? How's my buddy?" I remember being so excited that you recognized and knew me. Turns out that would be the last time.

On December 29th, 2017 you went home to with your wife, sons, and God. I remember feeling weird all day like something wasn't right. I was at my girlfriend Dorothy's house when my stomach started to hurt and I began to feel dizzy. After about a half hour I began to feel better, but five minutes later I got the call that you had passed and it hit me. I felt you leave, I felt it in my gut and in my soul that you had left. I was in shock, my whole life I was convinced that you were invincible and now you were gone. I was the one to tell Tyler that you had died, but it wasn't really much of me telling him and more of me just breaking down in his arms before I could choke out the words that you were gone. It was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life, right behind carrying your casket.

Your funeral was beautiful. You touched the lives of so many people and many of them came to pay you respect. It was hard seeing you that day, but you looked great. I was half expecting you to wake up, however, creepy that may be. It was one of the greatest honors of my life to carry your body and lay you down for the last time. It is something that I will never forget. I tried my best to be strong for everyone, I really did. But when they presented the family with your flag and played Taps I broke down. I stayed a little while after people had left to talk to you one last time, but then I placed my rose, kissed the casket, and left you so that you could finally go home.

I cry at least once a week because of how much I miss you. There is just so much that I wish I would have told you and asked you before you left. I guess you never really left, though. I still see you in my dreams almost every night and feel your presence when I feel lonely. I used to believe that you were indestructible, but 89 years is still a hell of a run. I hope you continue to watch over me as I continue to grow-up and for the rest of my life. I love you, Poppy, you'll always be my buddy.

Love,

Your buddy

Ryan