Papa's Visit

I had a dream last night.  It was really nice.  I dreamt that my grandfather was here.  I didn't dream that he hadn't passed away, but rather that he had... come back.  That he had been in a coma or something rather than dead.

I took him around town, showed him the sights.  After all, he hadn't been around for fifteen years.  A lot has changed.  The world has changed.  I've changed.

I gave him my iPhone and taught him how to use it.  We went to Wal-mart and looked at all the new stuff.  We got some tools for his tomato garden.

We talked.  We laughed.  We smiled.  And I realized something I hadn't known before.

I miss him.

I was only ten years old when Papa passed away, but I still remember his smile, his face, his blue eyes.  I remember his rough skin brushing against my cheek when he kissed me good night when my dad and I were leaving his house.

And I got to experience that again, in my dream.  I got to show Papa how I'd grown, how I've changed.  I got to show him how I wasn't a little boy anymore, but a man -- a man who's had a ton of bad things happen and still came through.

I'd catch Papa looking at me, smiling at me.  There was a distant look in his eyes sometimes, and I think he was trying to absorb me into his memory, to memorize every little detail in me.

I think Papa missed me too.

The last thing I remember before waking up, was Papa turning to look at me, a sparkle in his eyes.  And I know my grandfather misses me.  And I know he loves me with all his heart.

I love you too, Papa.