Dead. He’s dead. My grandpa. Pops. I was asleep (Hell it’s3:30am) asleep in my nice little cocoon of sheets. Voices. I get this weird feeling, (not that someone had died…but the feeling where you decide, “if I have to get up right now, and go to school, I will seriously beat the first person I see”.) It’s insanely dark in my room. Usually my night vision is damn good, but…maybe I was just sleepy. There are my parents, standing there. All I can see are two big black blobs, Two my mind grumbles…why two? “Pops is dead.” The sound comes out, but I can’t hear it. It’s so, blunt. Blunt objects hurt if you run into them. Like you misjudge the door frame and WAM! Instant flash back to today.

I’m sitting in front of the stupid talking box in the family room, staring at it mindlessly. I knew Pops was dying… “A few days” mom had said over the cell phone. But what is a few days to a young mind, and what is life to a young heart? Endless. Timeless. I’ll never die, I’m invincible. Anyway, I knew. So my brother is talking on the phone. He has already run into the room three times to inform me that…yes indeed Pops is dying. As I listen to his words I realize that he is speaking to Pops… “You’re a great Man” over and over. This phrase is, I think, one of the only ones that he can say to my grandpa.You’d have to understand their relationship as well as I do to understand that this held more significance for my brother than just plain old “I love you”. He hung up. I wanted to call back, I did want to. I wanted to talk to him, to say I love you, but Jack had hung up. And Pops would still be there tomorrow, he was always there. DAMN T.V.!!!! Someone should take an ax to that load of useless junk! IT ruined my chance of saying goodbye, I ruined my chance of saying goodbye.  All me.

I lay in bed no covers, no sheets. Freezing air keeping me awake, my emptiness was frightening, even for me. My parents where talking to Jack. “Everyone deals with it differently..” They were saying. I closed my eyes and watched memories play across the backs. Good memories. I smiled. A huge teeth sowing grin. And at the same time I felt pain. I couldn’t force my body to unclench,  nor could I seem to force down the lump in my throat.  I couldn’t breath, yet I could hear myself breath. Huge, deep peaceful breaths of rest. I need to write. I need the computer’s cold, mechanical, blue light to wash over me. And wash it is….

Now for a letter…
Dear Pops,
Well, here I am, writing a letter. I am a terrible letter writer, but I felt inclined to tell you a few things in formal print.  Wow! I’m glad that’s over with. I tried to write a formal letter, I really did, but…. formality has never been a strong point. Anyway, those first few lines were the beginnings of that old letter I TRIED to write you.
Okay, first I’m going to start off with a story, so pull up a seat, unless you are already seated, in which case you don’t need to do that.
It is snowing. Huge flakes of white fall from the sky with the elegance of dancers. There is a big house. Smoke rises from the chimney in a serpentine curl. Inside the house it is warm and happy. Handmade Christmas decorations cover the walls, and two small children run in circles around a cardboard box. But what is this? Sitting in the box is Santa Clause himself! The box is his sleigh and the children his reindeer! Despite the cramped looking conditions he lets out a deep genuine Santa Clause laugh, “HO, HO,HO!”
A chandelier swings at the push of a hand. Coins magically appear out of thin air. “They must have been dropped by Mutz-a-Mutz!” the children yell. “Shhh….” says the man “Stay still. He is sitting on your head!”
It is early morning in the military camp. The sun rises a vibrant red, deeply contrasting with the white world below.  Suddenly a loud call cuts the air, “Inspection!” All of the soldiers rush to clean up their quarters. “Attention!” the general calls again, while he inspects the rooms. “At ease soldiers,” he says at last, pleased with what he finds.
Two hobos are standing in a large well furnished house. They are line dancing and singing “We ain’t got a barrel of money. Maybe we’re ragged and funny, but we’re rollin’ along, singin’ a song, sided by side…”
We then jump a few years ahead.  The sun sparkles over a lake, its rays bouncing off like a thousand diamonds. From inside a large yellow house issue the sounds of laughter. Then suddenly a voice booms out, “RA-DEE-DO-DA!!!!” Squirrels go running, and the sounds of merriment increase.
The last scene ends with a room shared by the girl, now much older, and the young handsome man, now a little bit older.
Ok, that is my story. Did you like it? I’m going to let you in on a little secret: that story is the “book” of my memories of you. Yep, you’re shocked, I can tell…kind of…anyway, now for the formal stuff again. I want to say thank you. Thank you for everything. Truth be told I have only just realized how much you do for me. All my life you have been there, conducting military room inspection, playing Santa, and singing RA-DEE-DO-DA! You’re a trickster, (like Mutz), and I remember all of your jokes and games. You made my life a better place by your mere presence. I feel your loss, yes, yet I am happy. This is one of those times where I can call on my Faith. My Faith. My Faith in a better life, my Faith in God. An eternally loving God. One that welcome us with open arms after death. This, and this alone, sets me apart from almost all of my friends. It makes some of them feel strangely about me.  Makes people look at me strangely. Even my closest friends here can never be truly close to me, will never know the real me, because they do not share with me the essence of who I am.
So Pops, here is to you. To Life! TO letting go! To everything we’ve done together! RA DE DO DA!!!!
I will always remember. Love always,
Your Granddaughter