March of 2008, my Grandfather died. This is the first loss I truly felt of someone who I had known throughout my entire life, extremely closely. I had lost¬†others but this was the most impactful for me, expected or otherwise in my life — at that time.

Not the least of which because I was at a “job fair” with some friends and got the phone call while there. I raced home to see my grandfather lying face-up, dead, on the kitchen floor. All the same things he was usually wearing. Glasses, pocket protector, plaid shirt, jeans, velcro shoes, and his belt.

There’s a story that is going to be written about that belt. Suffice it to say I took it off his still warm corpse and I am wearing it as I type this out. There’s a lot more to it than that, though. Unfortunately. That, however, is for another day.

This poem is what I wrote about my Grandfather and shared at his wake. It still makes me emotional.

Grandpa.

Power Wheels,
the History Channel,
denchers,

and a three hour conversation that came from saying you wanted cheese on your burger.

Some of the best memories in my life involve that man.

He will be held in my hand,
heard in my voice,
worn on my waist,
and seen in my pupils.

When I look at that pink building, Gramps.
I’ll hear you, just like I can hear you hollerin’ as I open some pudding.

And I’ll remember,
one of the best men I knew, was proud of me.

I love you Grandpa.

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms
Featured photo taken by unknown, from left to right: Gary Pillivant, Alice Pillivant

 

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