Baca.

My grandpa died this month. It’s the first experience of death I’ve really had.

You are gone, gone, gone, from existing to not.

Snuffed.

Disappeared.

Death is the end, though you never believed it.

You believed in God and heaven above. & in heaven on earth, too.

Well maybe you were right.

I’m certain that nothing more exists but I’m more certain that I’m more often wrong than right.

& now all I can think is, I hope you were happy.

I could have loved you better, known you at least.

For as much as I knew you—as a child knows—I loved you. Only imagine the love I could have felt!

But I didn’t, not really.

Maybe the best man I’ve ever almost-known.

Now snuffed.

I have your name. Someone said I have your eyes: dark, deep-set, pensive.

I have 25% of your DNA on average and your sweet tooth.

You liked Red Vines right? Or was it Twizzlers.

You always looked like you were worrying something between your teeth and your lips.

Something guarding, something preventing, maybe.

An extra word just for you, not for public consumption.

A feather, some wisdom you kept to yourself because it would be better discovered alone. And besides, some wisdom you can’t share. Some wisdom must be earned.

The eternal moment of your death, I wonder how you felt it. If life flashed before your eyes, if you felt the wings of peace, if you were swallowed by a cold ocean.

& maybe someday I’ll see you again & you’ll be laughing and young. But I don’t think so.

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