6 years ago...

My mother was a single mother. I was an only child. I was the only girl in a family full of boy cousins. I was the youngest for a while too, until 3 more boys were born later. I didn't have a father in my house. But I had someone who filled those shoes quite nicely. My grandfather, Leo.

He was one of those grandfathers who always played with me. We always had a new scheme we would cook up together, and man could we laugh. He loved me so much, and oh my gosh, did I love him. He was my EVERYTHING. I wanted to be nowhere but sitting on my PaPa's lap, telling jokes and just spending time with him. I was fortunate to never live very far from my grandparents.

I spent most days after school at their house, and most of the time I was there I was with my grandpa in the garage or in the yard. He was my hero, and my best friend. My BEST FRIEND.

I feel so fortunate that I had a best friend from birth. There are very few memories of my childhood in which my best friend was not a part. He came to my plays, Oohed and aahed at my art work, always helped me with my science projects and my woodshop assignments, taught me how to play cribbage and beat me constantly at Gin. He read me stories, or let me read them to him, and always held my hand-even when I was an adult. He took me on driving lessons, which is something he NEVER did for anyone else, and drove 750 miles to be there on the day that I got married. I didn't tell him then, but if I could have had a best man on my side, it would have been him.

When I was a little girl, and I was so sick and in the hospital, he came to see me every day. He would take me on "walks" even though I was too weak to walk, and he would push me in my wheel chair and take me all over the hospital to all different floors and then pretend he couldn't remember which floor I was on. He always knew exactly what I needed to cheer me up and take care of me.

He and my grandmother bought a brand new couch after I had a bout with the chicken pox and got a weird rash from their old one.

He hated his picture to be taken, and one Christmas, I was given a gold locket with a formal portrait of my grandparents inside it. My grandmother told me later that it was his idea to do the pictures so that I could have a picture in my locket. He even lovingly engraved my initials in the hearts on the front.

He made me a mirror with his own hands when I was six, and gave it to me for Christmas. I still have it. It's in my son's room. Whenever I look at it I think of the love that went in to it... The love he had for me.

When it was time for me to have a bike, He went to the junkyard and got all these different bike parts and made me a bike. When I told him I needed a kick stand, he asked me to draw him some blue prints, and I did, and when I presented them to him, he made me a kick stand... to my exact specifications.

I remember once, when I was living in San Diego, far from home, I called him to tell him all about my new adventure by the beach, and he told me he loved me... "I love you, Susie." It was a big deal because he never said it first.

I remember too, saying goodbye to him for the last time, and told him I would see him in a week or two when I got back home from Utah. I was called the next week on my trip with the news that he had collapsed and was in a coma.

I remember feeling so much all at once. We rushed home, as fast as we could, and immediately went to the hospital, where he was lying in ICU, on life support. I felt so much agony when I saw him there, because all I could think about was the last time I saw his face, and how excited he was to go to this dance at the Seniors center, (he collapsed while getting ready to go out to this dance). He died April 6, 2005. I felt shame and sorrow for not making him more of a priority in my "busy" life. I was instantly reminded of one day when he told me that he missed seeing my face...

So here is an open letter to my best friend, my father figure, and my grandfather:

Papa,

I miss your face. I miss your voice. I miss your stories. I miss your laugh. I even miss your teasing. I miss your hugs, and I miss holding your hand. I miss our talks, and our inside jokes. I would give anything to see you right now. I need your advice. I need your acceptance. I need to remember how much you love me.

I know you are with Grandma and Aunt Lola, and with others who are gone now too. I know we will be together again. I know our family is forever. But knowing that doesn't change how much I miss you. I really really miss you.

It was so hard to let you go, knowing that in this life I would never see you again.

I guess that's it. I just... miss seeing your face.

Thank you for loving me.

With Love,
Susie

To Kill a Mockingbird

Since the day I finished it the first time back in 1992, it has remained my favorite. I am now reading for probably the 4th time since then, (I assure you there is not another book that I have ever read that many times) and the other day, something jumped out at me. It got me thinking... a lot. Mostly about my grandfather and the relationship we had. It was magic. Have you ever met someone, and just immediately had a special bond with that person? You don't really understand why you are closer to that person than someone else, but you almost feel like you have always been friends. As if you met somewhere before, or in another life.

I used to love it when I was a little girl, (and I have to admit I still like to hear it) when people would tell me that my grandfather was different before I was born. You see, I was the only girl among the grandchildren, which came with it a lot of expectations from some of the women in my family. I was the youngest for a while too. I have 8 cousins and they are all boys. I didn't ever know the papa who only shook hands and remained stoic and somewhat uninvolved. The papa who didn't show a lot of affection was not someone I ever met.

The man I knew gave the best hugs, and loved to play with me. He didn't shake my hand, he laughed at my silly jokes, he read me stories, he climbed on the monkey bars with me, he took me swimming, and let me push him in to the water. He would sit and talk to me, and often confide in me what he didn't in anyone else. He held my hand anytime I wanted to, and he would take me with him to run errands and always bought me an ice cream cone. He came to see me when I was in chorus, and came to every play I did, even if he hated the play, and he always brought me flowers and gave them to me after a show. He was proud of me, and loved me so much. And trust me, the feeling was mutual. He was my best friend all growing up. No one even came close to my papa. He made me things with his own two hands, and they were always beautiful. He drove from California to Utah when I got married, (which is saying a lot, because he hated sitting in a car for long periods of time... not to mention that Utah has weak beer) and what was in the trunk of his car? Fresh California strawberries... because I couldn't have just any old Utah crap strawberries at my wedding, and the best of all was that it was his idea. He did it because he loved me and wanted my day to be special.

10 years ago, I was moving to Utah from California, and he made me a large batch of my favorite cookies for the trip. He even wrote my name in bubble letters on a post-it that he put on the bag... I still have it, and it still brings tears to my eyes when I look at it.

In 1 month exactly, it will be 6 years since the day that I said goodbye to him for the last time. I was there when he left this earth. He left at 5:30 in the morning, and I spent the entire night before with him all by myself. He was in a coma, but it didn't stop us from bonding. He knew I was there, and I knew he could hear what I was saying. I had a few very precious and very spiritual experiences with him that night... Experiences that when I tried to explain them were lost on my family. I just held his hand and talked to him, and when I would stop talking, I would look at him, and his eyes told me he was growing weary of the battle he was fighting, and when it looked as if it were getting to be too much, it was my duty to call my family and inform them they needed to come to the hospital. He left surrounded by us all, each of us sat there and watched as his spirit leaped out of his body and was free.

I miss him every day. There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish I still had him with me.

Everybody tells me that something changed in him when I was born. I know that we were best friends in our other life, and I don't think that the bond will be easily broken. In fact I know that in the next life, it will be stronger still.

I wish so much that I could have seen my son and my grandfather together. I know that they would have been such good buddies.

Do you know what I remember most about him? That he just loved me. He accepted me for who I was and never once tried to change me. I was always good enough for him no questions asked.

I'm going to end this with the paragraph in my favorite book that reminded me of my relationship with him... It goes a little something like this:

"Aunt Alexandra was fanatical on the subject of my attire. I could not possibly hope to be a lady if I wore breeches; when I said I could do nothing in a dress, she said I wasn't supposed to be doing things that required pants. Aunt Alexandra's vision of my deportment involved playing with small stoves, tea sets, and wearing the Add-A-Pearl necklace she gave me when I was born; furthermore, I should be a ray of sunshine in my father's lonely life. I suggested that one could be a ray of sunshine in pants just as well, but Aunty said that one had to behave like a sunbeam, that I was born good but had grown progressively worse every year. She hurt my feelings and set my teeth permanently on edge, but when I asked Atticus about it, he said there were already enough sunbeams in the family and to go on about my business, he didn't mind me much the way I was."

Those few words that Atticus says to Scout in a moment when her feelings were upset because her Aunty had made her feel so badly about herself are words that I feel as if I've heard many times throughout my life from my papa. He has always been that voice for me. The voice that says, "Don't mind them. You go on about your business, I like you just the way you are."

I miss him. Gosh do I miss him.

With Love,
Suz