You were the only grandfather that I ever knew. I think you were aware that my paternal grandfather passed away long before I came into this world, and knowing that, you undertook the responsibilities of two grandfathers so that you could protect me from understanding the effects of only growing up with one. You packaged the entire two-grandfather experience into yourself just for me, meaning you gave me double the fun, double the number of trips to the train tracks, and most importantly, double the sandwiches from Hardee's. For that, I am eternally grateful. You were the best grandfather in the entire world, and unquestionably the best grandfather I could have ever asked for.

But I would like to apologize to you. Oddly enough, I never got the opportunity to tell you any of those things because, and it kills me to have to say this: I hardly knew you.

Now that it's just past the 12 year mark since tobacco took you away from me, I wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about you. To be honest, I think about you every day, but I think about you more as the calendar approaches the anniversary of the day that we lost you.

I'll never forget that, either, because it was and still remains without a doubt the worst day of my life. I was only eight years old and opted to spend my trick-or-treat night at home playing my newly purchased copy of Madden NFL Football 2003 while Dad handed out candy. Mom stayed with you in the hospital, of course. I wanted to come to the hospital too, but Mom and Dad made an executive decision barring me from going, because they thought that me seeing you lie lifeless in a hospital bed would only effectuate the inevitable--that you were about to lose your battle with lung cancer--and leave a significant scar on my young, naive mind.

Thank goodness for that decision, because judging from my reaction when Dad told me what had happened, I can only think that I would have never fully recovered had that reaction been compounded with real images of you during the end of your time with us. I was just too young to really understand what was going on, but I knew you were the best, and I knew if anybody could get through what you faced, it would be you, and I had complete and total confidence that you would be just fine. I even looked forward to our next trip to the park once you got out of the hospital.

I wish I could say I didn't remember sobbing uncontrollably the rest of the night, or screaming inconsolably into my pillow, wishing that this was all just some sort of horrible dream, that I would wake up and you would be there again. But I can't say that. I also remember that, miraculously, I went to school the next day and put on the least broken-looking face that I could muster, which obviously wasn't very convincing, because my third grade teacher saw right through it, and I completely broke down in front of her when she asked what had been bothering me. Even recess, my favorite part of the day, where every single day my class would face off against the class from across the hall (our fierce rivals) in two-hand-touch football, was completely joyless. Everyone was so confused as to why I didn't want to play, but I couldn't possibly tell them, so I just trudged off in silence, choking back tears. As if things could get any worse, we lost the game that day.

I've reached a lot of milestones in life, ones that I wish you could have seen for yourself. You never got to see me graduate from high school, score my first varsity football touchdown, or get my first job. Heck, you left before I could even choose my college, Lehigh, the school where your father studied; or declare my college major--Computer Engineering/Computer Science--which is the exact same field you studied in school! Little did you know, I always wanted to be like you when I grew up.

I wish you would have seen all of these things that I've done, because even though I never told you, I always wanted to make you proud, and I know you would be so proud of all of the things I've accomplished. I know you can still see me do these great things as you look down over me, but I still wish you could have experienced them first-hand. You never got to watch me grow from a little boy into a young man, and being aware of that now, at age 20, really hurts me when I think about it.

On the flip side of that issue, I never really got to fully appreciate your life, either. Every now and then, during a silence between Mom and I, I'll randomly blurt out something to the like of "Man, I wish Pap were still around, because I would have loved to hear him talk about the war" or "If Pap were here, I would totally ask him about what Computer Science was like back in the day." Since we last saw each other, I've learned a lot about the many things you accomplished in your life, and I would be hard-pressed to find anything in the world that I'd rather do than listen to you tell stories about those accomplishments and experiences. You did so many good things in your life that I can't help but to feel slighted at the fact that I will never get to hear about them and knowledgeably respond to your accounts.

All of this begs one question: Why did you have to use tobacco?

You were only 71 when it happened, and aside from the deterioration of your respiratory system by way of all the carcinogens you inhaled over the years, you were still a healthy man. If I had a time machine, I would go back in time and prevent you from ever meeting the person that gave you your first cigarette. I'm certain you would be okay with that if it meant you could come back and be with us again. Oh, if only you knew how much I miss you.

I'm not sure how much the world knew about the effects of tobacco on the body during your life, but I can tell you that now, we know a lot more. We understand that tobacco is bad because it does unspeakable things to different parts of your body, causes cancer, and ruins lives. Yet, at every corner store and smoke shop, tobacco of many different forms and flavors is readily available for purchase. After seeing what tobacco did and continues to do to a countless amount of people like you and being fully aware of its many dangers, our country continues to market it freely. I'm not saying I agree with this alternative either, Pap, but if you would have smoked marijuana your entire life as opposed to cigarettes, you would likely still be alive today.

Please, whatever you do, don't take this letter as simply an attempt to voice my disdain in your decision to smoke cigarettes during your lifetime. While it does upset me very much that this decision significantly cut short our time together, I want you to know that I will always cherish the time we spent together. And after all, it was your decision that made you unique--your lighters lying around your house, the smoky smell of your presence--and contributed, albeit negatively, to your life. In the end, it was your life, and though it breaks my heart to say this, you lived it.

Pap, if you're out there somewhere reading this like I know you are, I want you to know that I miss you gravely. I wish you could come back and be with us so that we could all see you and laugh with you again. I wish you could tell me story after story about your time in the Air Force, your first computer science course at Franklin & Marshall, or even great-grandpa's time at Lehigh. I wish we could go down to the train tracks again, and I wish I could tell you all the things I never told you. I wish you never would have smoked.

Since I can't have any of these things though, I would like the next best alternative: Please continue to watch over me and guide me down the right path. I hope you are smiling down on me as I continue on this journey that is life, and I hope I have made you extremely proud of the person that I have become. You were such a good man, and although you aren't here with us anymore, I know you are with me in spirit, and your legacy will never die. And one day, maybe, just maybe, I'll see you on the other side.

With unconditional love,

Your biggest fan, your grandson, Nick Trovalli.

P.S.: Here's to hoping that one day during my lifetime we will curb or curtail entirely the use and consumption of tobacco products so as to preserve and maintain the health and welfare of our country's tobacco users, as well as their families and other loved ones who have been affected by this ongoing tragedy. Rest in peace, Pap. I love you.