Missing Him

Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality. ~Emily Dickinson

Not a day goes by without me thinking of him.

Its almost been 9 months since we said our tearful goodbye. His death has been very hard to adjust to. Some days I can think of him and smile and even laugh. But more often when I think of Papa, I just cry from missing him so much.

It helps having such a big, wonderful and loving family. But no one takes his place.

My mom told me some good advice a few weeks ago.

She said I need to love others as much as I loved him. And I will try but there is no one else like him.

Of course, I love my children above all others. But as a child myself, there was no one like Papa Bud. We just had a special bond. I felt totally loved and accepted and protected by him and thats all a child really wants to feel. He made me & my sister feel totally safe and loved.

As a grandfather, he didn't have to love me the way he did. He treated me and Raini as if we were his daughters. He was my protector and while my mom worked, him & Mama Jo were our caregivers. There is no one else in my life who treated me as wonderful as he did. Losing that security, even as a 35 year old woman, has been really hard. Much harder than I imagined. And for years as his health declined, I did try to imagine a time when we would part and prepare myself for his loss.

As the weather gets warmer, I miss him even more. He loved warm days. He loved his garden. He loved fishing. Anything that he could do outside was where he wanted to be. Some days he would just sit on his front porch and let the sun warm his belly.

I miss his detailed mind. Last night I watched the HISTORY channel show, "The Story of Us" and I just knew he would have enjoyed that. And if he were still here, thats what we would have talked about today. He probably would have had to record it because the show comes on at 9 and that was well past his bed time. Still, he would have loved the history.

Last spring I finally got around to reading the novel by David McCullough, 1776 and Papa and I had so many wonderful talks about history and the history of the American Revolution. He knew a little about everything but he had a gift for never coming across as being as smart as he truly was.

For a man who had to leave school in the 8th grade, Papa was very smart and he loved learning.

Every life, at some point, ends. That's the easy part. You know this. But when it happens and you lose the one life you cherished so much, your mind has a funny way of not accepting what you know to be.

I know he is dead. He isn't coming back. On this earth, on this side of life I will never see him again. He awaits me in a much better place that I pray someday I will go.

The hard part is waking up each day and accepting the sad news over again.