the weird thing about death is that once that person dies, they’re
gone. and while all of me knows that papa is up there in heaven with
aunt andrea and jonathan, it doesn’t really comfort me because i know
that when i go home the next time he’s not going to be there. my
grandma will be in her house all by herself and papa won’t be in the
back room by himself. ever since my great grandmother died papa has had
her rocking chair in his office in the back of the house. ever since i
was little my grandfather rocked me in that chair and sang some poem to
me:

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

whenever i was upset i’d go back there and sit in his chair, and he’d
just hold me and talk to me and sing to me, up through college, up
through the time he was sick, when i’d just go lay my head on his leg
to let him know i was there. he was so small and so sick at the end he
wasn’t even talking, and his kidneys shut down. my mom, my aunt, my
uncle, and my grandma were all there when it happened, and my mom said
it was peaceful. she called me right after. i just can’t imagine him
laying there, not breathing. he was always so large and so loud with
his booming voice, and he fought so hard.

i miss my papa. i can’t believe that i am going to go home and there
will be no one to ask me about the “green hornet,” my car, and remind
me that i need to keep my wheels on the ground. and to harass me about
“that boy” that has stolen me away from him. its not fair. its so
selfish but i just want him to come back and be himself 5 years ago.
all i really want is to dance with him when i get married. its such a
stupid thing and i’ve said it before, and i don’t even know why its so
important. it was the first thing i thought about when he got sick,
because back them they gave him less than a year. he made it almost to
two years. and do you know that peter was the first one that i called,
and we weren’t dating? i had just moved into this apartment when we
found out, and had just started at hops. and this time i called peter
at work again to let him know that he passed, and he left early. at
least papa got to meet peter and approved of him. and here i am, two
years later, moving out, dating pete, graduating soon, and papa is
gone. so i guess that this is growing up.