'You're in a better place,' I've heard a thousand times
And at least a thousand times, I've rejoiced for you
But the reason why I'm broken,
The reason why I cry
Is how long must I wait to be with you?
-Mercyme
Dear Pop Pop,
You've been in heaven for four years now. Four years for us, anyways. Up there, "a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day," so I highly doubt the time that passed here is even noticeable to you. It was always noticeable to me. The time has seemed to pass like an eternity, and yet like a mere moment, at the same time.
I miss answering the phone when you call, saying hello, and hearing you respond with your usual jovial "Hey, whatchya doin'?"
I miss riding shotgun in your truck, with the windows rolled down and the radio tuned to 98.7 WMZQ.
I miss having you there to get Christmas trees with the rest of us at Hardee farm.
I miss how, at my birthday parties, you were always the first one to arrive and the last one to leave.
I miss your infectious laugh. Sometimes when I'm thinking about you -- which would be a lot of the time -- I close my eyes and imagine hearing your laugh, if only so I don't forget what it sounded like. I never want to forget.
I love you, Pop Pop. I hate not having you here. You would want me to not be so sad that you're gone, but happy that you're Home, and that I'll be there eventually too. Home with you, and with my Nanny's, and with Buddo.
"What a day of rejoicing that will be."
Until then, Pop Pop.
Love,
Emily
