It is the 16th of August, 2012. Tomorrow would have been your birthday. I always have these "conversations" with you in my mind and decided, since I started a blog not long ago, that I would write you a letter and share it with my loved ones, many who are your loved ones too.
I decided to do this while I was giving the kids a bath tonight. Maddie, your first (and only) great-granddaughter just turned 5. She is a mini-me and considering I was always your favorite, you would adore her! She also has a very curious nature about her, similar to yours - interested in how and why things work the way they do. Reece, your first (and only) great-grandson is a gentle soul and is turning one on Monday. You were a gentle soul and I often think of you when I witness his serenity, sitting with his hands together, fingers laced - something my mom says you often did. I only wish you were around to know my babies - but mostly I wish you were around so they would know you. They will know you, through my stories and you will always be alive in the memories I share with them. But, it saddens me to no end that they will never really get to know you.
They will never have you lift them up, above your head, to say "hi" to the African wooden mask that hung above the doorway in the kitchen. They will never get to explore the "deep dark woods" with you - learning about nature and taking in the peaceful scenery. They will never have you build them a set of stilts or Amos, the wooden tap dancing toy. They will never drink from the water hose in your back yard in Miami as I did for so many summers while you worked in the yard. They will never listen to your stories, and if they interrupt you, they will never have to sit through the torture (sorry, it was torture) of you starting over. From the beginning. Every time.
They will never hear you sing, in that monotone voice, "The Bear Went Over the Mountain," or, "I Wish I was a Fuzzy Wuzzy Fox." I sing those songs to them, all the time, but it just isn't the same.
I could go on and on and on with all the things you did for me and of all the things we did together. I have a beautiful lifetime of those memories.
I loved spending my Christmas holidays with you, calling you on the phone and receiving your letters (with that very unique handwriting). I have every letter you have ever written me and there have been times that I gather enough courage to sit and read them. But, I don't do that often because I get sad.
I have a hard time talking about you with others. I can't do it without crying. Now I know you wouldn't want me to cry. And I am not sad, I celebrate your life all the time. But I don't think you really understood how important you were in my life. I can safely say that you loved me without condition. Many people talk about "unconditional" love. I don't believe in it - at least not in such a commercialized manner. I know, without a single doubt, that you had unconditional love for me. That is why I cry. I don't think that anyone will ever love me that way. Well, hopefully my children will.
I was by your side during your last weeks on this earth. I got the phone call and jumped on the first airplane to Egypt and never left your side until it was time for me to come home. That day, the day I said goodbye to you, knowing it would be the very last time - is as fresh in my memory as if it happened just yesterday. But I am grateful I was able to be there, lay next to you, sing our favorite songs to you, and I even brought you some maple syrup (your favorite) and gave you a taste. I know you knew I was there by your side, even though you couldn't open your eyes and talk to me. I know you knew I was there.
And I want you to know that you are always here. In my heart. And tomorrow on your birthday, I will celebrate you. I will read your letters, I will sing your songs and I will tell your stories. I will never forget.
I love you Grampa. Happy Birthday.
Your favorite, always -
Valerie
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