13 Years

         Has it really been that long? Close to a decade and a half since the last time I saw you? It just can't be. In my heart it feels like it's only been a day.
         At least, that's how it feels when I look around the room. A boy, no older than ten, stands to give his last goodbyes to his grandpa. Seeing this makes my heart hurt, I was this boy once.
         It was in this very room, weirdly enough, all those years ago. It hasn't really changed: same walls, same floor, same people (kinda), but a different face laying there. The images are still in my head today.
         Seeing this, it all comes back. I remember how I felt then, how I feel every time I say your name to this day, and how it all changed me. It wasn't your fault. I bet you'd be here beside me right now if you could. I understand that, now at least...
         But this boy...does he understand? I can only hope, watching him stand there with no trace of his normal energy. I was in his place once, is there something I can do? What did I need most when you went away?
         I take him aside and try talking to him. I tell him how it's not an easy time right now. How it is okay to cry, actually it's better to cry so you get all the sadness out. Once the tears are gone, think back on happy things. Days they spent together, games that were played, silly little family stories, anything to keep what happened to me from happening again. I even tell him stories about you.
         Somewhere the stories change. We speak of superheroes, villains, video game plumbers, and wrestlers of all sizes. Does it help? I think so. Thinking of things you love usually helps a lot, and talking about them helps even more. It's strange really. I don't remember two hours passing us by so fast.
         I really think I helped him. Really I do. I know this isn't easy for anyone, let alone a ten year old boy, but it does get better. Eventually. I'm still not over what happened when you left, and I know I might never be but I can try.
         First day of 4th grade. That's when I heard. The next few days were a blur. Family appearing out of nowhere, faces I've never seen before, everything just whirling past me. I just felt...numb once I stopped crying. I shut down. Stopped being so happy, stopped talking as much. Everyone saw, not many knew what to do.
         It took years. Years for me to open up, years for me to find my old spark, years for me to be open with others again. I got more friends, even a girlfriend (or two), and slowly I felt happy again.
         There are always bad days. Days where I miss you dearly, and days I honestly don't know why I feel so blue, but tomorrow is always another day. And when tomorrow comes, I usually feel better. It's not your fault I shut down, if anything it's mine, but if I can keep what happened to me from happening to this boy...I'll be happy.
         In fact, if anyone reading this has lost anyone dear to them, know there is always someone willing to listen. Parents, partner, friend, boss, doctor, pastor, or anyone you feel safe with talk to them. Let them know what you feel. An after that? Do something you enjoy. Draw a picture, write a story, read a book, run outside, do anything that makes you feel happy.
         I wish I could say it gets easier after 13 years, but for some people it might not be. But one thing I do know is that it does get better. Somehow, some way it gets better. And one last thing to keep in mind: As long as we have our memories and keep them close, no one is ever truly gone.



I love you Pop-Pop.