For Memorial Day...

I stand here before you with the nieces you'll never know, the sister-in-law pregnant with your first nephew. Behind us are the sister born nine months after you left and her fiancé. And then there are your parents that loved you so dearly in your short time with us. I'm sorry that I don't make it up here as often as I should. I know you heard me when I leaned toward my oldest daughter and said, "No matter how angry you may get with your sister or brother, always remember to never wish them dead. You never want to know the pain of not having them around."

 

I stand here before you, having only known both of you briefly. I have only memories of you, grandfather, sitting in your black leather chair and looking like, as I would discover later in life, R. Crumb. I wish I had the chance to speak with you as an adult. There are so many questions I would ask you about the family and your WWII experiences. I remember you, grandmother, giving me diet dr. pepper for breakfast and telling me not to tell my parents, and it would be my treat and our secret.

 

I stand before you, my maternal grandparents, the relatives I knew the best. My grandpa, the man who rarely smiled or spoke but frequently reminded me, "Don't run through the house, goddammit." Yet in every picture I see of you, I find the little smirk that shows the true happiness you kept from us. If you were with us now, I'd crack through that gruff exterior.

And Grandma, my dearest friend, you always looked after me and loved me unconditionally. You took me in when I needed to get away, you listened to me and told me things that no one else would listen to you say. It's you that I miss the most today. I wish that you could be here to meet my family.

 

And to everyone else that has gone before me, whether friend or relative, I thank you for all the memories.