Wow, it’s been two months since you left us. I see you everywhere. When I sit in my hammock I think about the times we sat in nature in Wisconsin by the bonfire, when we sat outside your camper having one of our talks, or the time we were in Wisconsin and I brought a package of Oreos for us and you stole them and ate them all!! Haha. I see you when I write, I see you on my phone and computer. I see you when I volunteer at church or when I see/hear of Saint Vincent De Paul. You are everywhere, yet you aren’t.
I think of what it would have been like to see you and tell you goodbye in person. What would I think or do? Would you suddenly wake up and look me in the eyes? Would you suddenly start wanting to fight harder? A couple days ago, on my dad’s birthday (10-08-26), we were at Chili’s and I’m not sure what made me mom said this but she said she could remember when you told her that you “didn’t want to fight anymore”. It broke my heart hearing that you said that. Knowing that you are a Marine and that you never wanted to stop fighting for anything. It made me wonder if you were in a lot of pain and just couldn’t take it anymore.
I have so many questions. For you, the doctors, God. I watch Grey’s Anatomy ( I know it’s not real ), but I know a little about medical things. Did what the doctors were doing, hurt more than help? When they intubated you, did that mess up your throat? Why did you decide to give up and not fight? Why did you decide to give up?
There’s so much death in the world and it just baffles me how much there is. Unpredicted death, at that. I recently went to another funeral for a friend’s mother, and the priest in his homily said that though we do not see you physically, you are always with us. That you are with us in everything we do. That you are doing everything with us.
I don’t know how to grieve with this. I don’t know how to process it. I’ve been to the funeral, seen the tombstone, it just doesn’t feel real. I feel like I can pick up the phone and dial your number and you’ll pick up and talk, but I know that’ll never happen again. I know that I will never hear you laugh or talk again, I’ll never eat Oreo’s with you again, I’ll never ride on your motorcycle again, I’ll never go to a Rolling Thunder event in D.C. with you again. I just don’t understand, Grandpa. I want to see you, be with you, and ask you so many questions.
But I know that you are with me. You are on my necklace, I wear you Dew rage to work underneath my work hat, I wear your ring I founding your camper, and I sleep with your quilt that was on your bed. You are all around me yet you aren’t. I feel confused, angry, saddened, empty, and disbelief.
My prayer this week ( or until I feel better ), is that you, Grandpa, and You, God, show me what I’m suppose to do. What is it that you think I should do with my life. Give me comfort and show me that you, Grandpa, are okay. Answer some of my questions please and let my heart rest.
I love you, Grandpa. Keep me safe.