Don’t ask me why, but I’m not having a good night. I had wonderful day, but now I’m alone and it’s like blah. I started thinking today that it’s been nearly 18 years since my grandfather died. That’s an awfully long time. My grandfather was really the closest thing I had to a father. There were a few times that we lived with my grandparents, but my grandfather looked after me a lot even when we didn’t live with them. I was 11 when he died, and though the pain of losing him isn’t as painful, I don’t think that there’s a day that goes by when I don’t think of him.
My grandfather was this big man full of life. When he walked into a room, you could feel his presence. He loved his family, and he loved me. I was spoiled, and I was his favorite. I know that there was nothing that he wouldn’t have done for me. He was the only man in my life that I trusted, and to this day, well, it’s still that way.
I wish I could go and wrap my arms around him and tell him that I love him once more. I wish I could feel his hand in mine once more. I wish he was here to make everything okay because right now, my life is a bit out of sorts. But mostly, I just wish I could hear his voice, whether it was ordering me to make coffee or calling me by his special nickname for me, Julie Maginty.
I may have had him for only 11 years, but what an 11 years it was. I love you Papa.