For Grandpa

It's been a little over a year now since I lost my Grandfather... As most of you know, I was in Iraq at the time and was informed via email. Since I could not attend the memorial service, I stayed up almost all night after hearing the bad news, writing a poem that C. read at the service for me. It was hard to go back to the States, knowing he would not be there. I thought that it would be easier once we got through all the holidays, but I still miss him every day, and especially when I go home to visit my family. As was thinking about him yesterday, I remembered the poem I wrote last year. Re-reading it, I was reminded of how much I have to be thankful for. I have so many great memories with Grandpa. I will carry those with me forever.

Here is the poem I wrote that night in Ramadi a year ago:

What are ya doing, Grandpa? I want to do it too.
I want to be like you, Grandpa, I want to be like you.

Do you need a hammer or screw?
Whatever you need; let me get it. I want to be handy like you.

Grandpa, can I play the math game with you?
How do you divide10,068 by one hundred and thirty-two?
Teach me, please, Grandpa, I want to be smart like you.

Can I come up Grandpa, can I come up too?
I want to see the flying bridge. I want to be part of your crew.
I'll even clean and sand it, and paint the bottom blue!
May I drive the boat? I want to be captain like you.

Can you teach me how to dance, Grandpa, and waltz around the room?
Teach me to follow as you lead, I want to be graceful like you.

Can you teach me about investments and the stock market too?
I don't really understand it, but I want to make money like you.

I watch the way you work, Grandpa, always honest and true.
Can you teach me your work ethic, Grandpa? I want to be respected like you.

I want to work for the Navy, Grandpa, and sail the ocean blue.
I want to fight for our freedom, I want to be brave like you.

I remember as a little girl, putting both feet into your one shoe
Now that I'm grown I know I will never be able to fill them like you
Not much else has changed, though, Grandpa… I still want to be just like you.

I miss him so!

There are days I can forget. For years now I have been a couple hundred miles away from where he lived, I was used to not seeing or talking to him on a regular basis, but each time I drive back to the state I still claim as home, I am reminded all over again that he is gone... forever.
The other day I took my scissors out of their case (I had a haircut to do) and quarter dropped out. I knew immediately what it was. I remembered putting it there last summer just before leaving for Iraq. It was a drummer boy quarter. Grandpa always collected them, telling us that someday they would be worth something more than 25 cents. I had put that quarter there so I would remember to give it to Grandpa when I went home next. I'd always cut his hair and he'd tell me what great job I did - that I was much better than his barber. The day I put that quarter in my scissor-case I didn't know I'd never cut his hair again or have the chance to give it to him.
It may seem silly and rather unimportant, but it is the little things - reminders of the things I didn't do or say that make it hardest. There is never a good time to say good-bye, but at least a bad time is better than never being able to say it at all.

Ancient glass and memories

Walking along the beach today, I noticed a piece of "ancient glass" (for those of you unfamiliar with the term, it is broken glass that has been in the ocean long enough to have lost all it's sharp edges and take on a frosted look). I picked it up and was disappointed that is wasn't all that antient after all, besides, I always collected it for Grandpa and he won't be there when I get home anyway. My eyes filled with tears at the thought of it. I threw the glass aside and continued walking, but as I walked I continued to think of Grandpa and all the fun times we had together at the beach. I decided I wanted that glass after all. I turned around and went in search of it. I did manage to find it again; this time I picked it up and put it in my pocket. When I was little, I thought ancient glass was actually worth something, now I know that the memories are worth more than anything I could possibly collect.

Memories are just where you laid them
Drag the waters, till the depths give up their dead
What did you expect to find
Was it something you left behind
Don't you remember anything I said when I said:
Don't... leave love bleeding in my hands
~ Fuel