You were my first. My first death. What a shock it was when I realized you were gone and never coming back. I was fourteen and you were 79. I love you so… still, writing this brings a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat. Who will sit on the hillside and count train cars with me? Who will trek up the hill in the woods by the tracks and get Gramma’s greens for her Christmas window boxes? Who will sit in our chair together and read the same stories over and over? Who will love me even when I am not speaking to them because they read the wrong words just to tease me?Who will hold my hand and walk around the farm with me ?
Who will I sit and watch wrestling with? No one can yell at Big Moose Sherlock like you did. Who will sing the soft Irish songs or chuckle at my school troubles and make them better with a joke or a poem?
No one can fill my Grampy hole. You were it for me. After you it was a mess. Thank god you still look out for me. I know you helped me through drunken scrapes when I was lost. I still feel you and know that your love is real. Thanks, Grampy for teaching me about love. I do believe in it and feel it in the world today because of your love for me.
Love Mary Catherine