Happy birthday to you.
Today would have been my grandpa’s 82nd birthday. We were tight. Like not ‘hey I’ve got to call my grandpa because that’s what granddaughters do’ tight, but tight. We’d talk two, three or four times a week for at least an hour. I think it was one of the highlights of his day, and I know it was one of the highlights of mine. When he died, I think that a piece of me died with him. I miss him. Every. Single. Day.
I miss him so much. When I think about him, my heart tightens, my throat closes up and if the timing is right, the tears flow. The feeling hasn’t subsided much after four years, five months and fifteen days and I suspect it never will.
And many more. Except I wish the ‘many more’ were here with me.