I'm not good at remembering anything that counts. I can never remember assignments, what my mom tells me to get at the store, dates, etc. I feel kinda crappy for it sometimes. Like how it's only been two years since my papaw died and I don't have a clue what day it happened.
It was all so weird. He was sick and Amy was over when the phone rang and my parents rushed out of the house. I think they forgot to call and tell me anything, so I assumed he was dead. I just lied there on the floor and didn't speak. They came home later that night and apparently he just wasn't eating, but my mamaw called and was hysterical, so everyone thought he was dying or something.
A few weeks went by, I guess. He called me. It's not that we weren't friendly with each other, he just wasn't one for talking on the phone. Actually, he wasn't one for talking at all. But when he did speak, he always said the perfect thing. Anyway, with tears in his voice, he told me he wanted me to have his truck and that he was sorry he didn't get to teach me to drive like he did with my brother and sister. It was my fault. I was the one who was too lazy to get my permit until months and months after my birthday. I was the one who ruined that. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted to tell him not to tell me to have the truck, because he would need it when he got better.
He didn't get better.
It had snowed that night. There was a two-hour delay that morning. Mom woke me up and told me he was gone. As simple as that.. I could tell she was trying to hold herself together, so I just said okay and got into the shower. I think I cried for two minutes. My sister took me to school that morning. Nothing was any different. I went about my day like I would any other. I texted my friend after school and told her. She said she knew. Her parents had told her. I felt like an idiot, because I knew that if she knew, everyone knew.. and I looked like an idiot showing up to school like nothing even happened.
He didn't have a funeral. I've only been to one funeral, but it was enough to convince me that I'll never have one. We did have a memorial service, however. There we were, dressed uncomfortably, half of us with wadded up tissues in our fists, standing in the front of the church as guests came filing through hugging us and telling us they're sorry for our loss. I don't know how you can be sorry for something like that, but nevertheless, I replied to everyone with "it's okay." I realize that sounds like I was avoiding the situation. Everyone was sad.. we lost someone really awesome. But it was so much different than I could have imagined.
See, I was never certain if my papaw was a Christian or not. I had a pretty good feeling that he was, but I don't think he ever told me. I remember him having a bad temper, but that's because his medicine was affecting him. I never had the guts to ask, but when he died, I knew the answer. I knew it because of the overwhelming peace I found. I meant it every time I said "it's okay." Why should I be sad that he's closer to where I want to be? I'm excited for him. I just wish it wouldn't have hurt him to go.
I've seen other people deal with loss and it's not pretty. I'm not saying that I'm always going to deal with it like this, but it really has been so peaceful. Since his death, I've learned more and more about him. I always knew he had a decent taste in music, but since I found out he listened to Taylor Swift and Michelle Branch, my respect for that man has gone through the roof. He always had the best food. I learned that the hard way. When he left, so did anything decent in my grandma's house. I don't wish he had another day on this planet, because this isn't home.. I just wish I would've gotten to know him better. But doesn't everyone feel that way?
I haven't cried over his death since. I'll see him again. That day keeps getting sooner. I'm growing anxious. Every day my soul yearns for it. Not to see him, but to go home. God, I am so ready to come home.
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