11 Days, 11 Letters
Dear Papaw Raegan,
I was three or four when you died; I don't really remember you. If I try hard, I can get a smell, but that's about it. But I've heard the stories, and I know you adored me, and that I loved you right back. I know that when you were on your way out, I gave you something to try to hold on for. I know you were quiet around my crazy great grandmother, your wife, but that you had a wicked sense of humour on your own. And, yes, no matter what anyone tells me, I remember seeing you wander through my closet after you were gone, just to make sure I was all right one last time.
I wish I could know you now. I wish I could have a relationship with you, and sit and talk with you, and you could tell me stories about your life and I could tell you stories about mine, and you could talk to my parents about not being so freaking insane all the time, sicne their parents couldn't fix anything; that's what grandparents are for, right? It sounds like you were really awesome, and right now I need to believe that there's hope, that somewhere in my bloodline is the chance that I won't end up absolutely crazy and hating the whole wide world. A great grandpa seems like as good enough place for hope as any.
'Cause right now, it doesn't seem like there's another way. I need a grown up to talk to, to bounce things off of, to tell me everything will be all right, and there's no one. Every conversation just turns to shit, anyone I ever considered a mentor is gone, and...I just need someone right now. I try reaching out to Stephen, and I've tried reaching out to the girls some in the past, but I need someone older, someone who can tell me they were there and came out the other side and that the world is an okay place. And I feel like you would do that. I feel like you'd offer me some illicit wine and a dirty comment and we'd talk and end up laughing about it. And the smell, the only thing I really know of you, would match you, and you would be safe and warm and a good man.
But I don't guess that will ever happen, at least not until this whole mortal coil thing is over and done with. But I look forward to meeting you as two grown-ups then, and...well, I'm sad you're gone, but if you were here, I know you'd be a million years old, and probably not anything like I imagine. So I guess it's best we can't disappoint each other right now. We'll just pretend it would've been perfect until it really can be.
Love,
Lusie