When someone dies, you don't stop wanting to do stuff for them.
I think this is an amazing thing to discover.
I keep thinking about Poppa teaching me how to be an old person. Saying "okay" and "Thank you" all the time.
He was our big, very old baby. I miss making his fruit salad and watching him age. It isn't fair that he just left. Did he want to leave? I don't think he did.
He was just there, and less and less there, but still there. I miss his baseball, and his nearness. I miss him being in our lives.
I just want him to know, I'm still here, if he wants to come back. He was no trouble.
