When I first laid eyes on the love you carried around with wind-swept footsteps that still lift me higher with memories and easy thoughts.
You’ve made me cheekily content with jokes that fall closer to the way you mocked your belly that contained the animal kingdom.
The hands with slightly hairy knuckles still feed me the coated shapes of dipped cassava as the warmth of the soup that grandma made to perfection — releases simple joys.
The time of us was cut short — with only me standing in a frozen frame of disbelief as I recalled you alive — while managing your lifeless state with varied motions of acceptance.
You’re still my grandpa. The one who wants to know why his tiny granddaughter is suddenly acting up in reaction to something that remains moldy with fear.
You calmed me when I explained it and your space directed us away from the fading and into the realm — that now plays host until your return.
Your presence everywhere is the omnipotent promise I recognize with purity of grace and strength for the journey ahead.
You remind me why life is exactly what it’s worth after climbing out of the pits that are big enough to shred our delicacies.
You’re the best grandpa ever because you let me build you past your expiration date and the process has afforded us silent strings of attachment that can’t ever be sliced.
Until the day I die.
I will never feel you again. The tempo of my labored breath will try to utter where you are so you can catch me, but the glassiness of my eyes will reflect nothing.
We reunited when one of us stayed back and I will continue to let you spoil me with tales of how we will see each other — once I let go.
I love the nativity of listening with bug-eyed wonder at the vibrancy of words you bestow — that still resonates in this letter you published long before the writer began to write.
You still praise it with the gusto you command on everything else that I produce — in a life spent searching for how to make the past presentable for further living.
You start feeding me and the warmth of it suddenly makes the bad monster cower in defeat.
Superheroes aren’t fiction. They sweep in and hold you tight and even tighter when they’re released from earthly duties.
Dear grandpa, don’t leave me ever — even when my heart suddenly stops beating for you.