Lauren, Popi, and me, Christmas 2009

Dear Popi,

It’s hard to believe that it’s been over two months since you left. When I say it like that — “left” — it sounds as if it was your choice. As if you moved away, or went on an extended hunting trip. As if you’ll be back soon, back to yell at me for throwing food away or to yell at the cat for jumping on top of the curio cabinet. I think I’ve finally realized that no, you’re not coming back, but I definitely haven’t accepted it.

Today you would be seventy-one. I desperately wanted you to see seventy-one. You deserve years and years more of birthdays, but you didn’t even get to see seventy-one. It doesn’t seem fair, at all. I want to pretend that you’re still here, healthy and getting ready to celebrate, but the part of me that was in denial is finally out of it, and I’m just left wondering why, missing you, and wishing you were here instead of wherever you are.

Maybe, if I knew for sure where you were, I’d feel better. But I don’t. I hear what different people believe, but I don’t know. Part of me wonders if you are still right here, still taking care of us. The fact that the hot water faucet in the pantry was fixed and yet none of us fixed it makes me really, really wonder. The fact that every time I am doing something you used to yell at me for — like throwing out food, or turning the faucet too tightly — I instantly “hear” you reminding me, and I apologize, makes me really wonder. Maybe it’s habit, or maybe it’s you.

Maybe you’re everywhere.

We’re having pizza and cake for you on Sunday. Did you know that? I suggested we celebrate your birthday because I couldn’t stand the thought of not acknowledging it. Sandy told me not to celebrate the day of your death like her family does her mother’s. I think she’s right.

I wish I could have another hug from you, but I’m so grateful for the hug you gave me a couple of weeks ago. I know it was you, not my mind giving me what I wanted. Maybe you really are everywhere.

Here’s to your birthday, what would be your seventy-first, but is really now your first birthday without you here. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of you. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn’t. Most of the time, it hurts, but only because I miss you so much.

Happy birthday, Popi. I hope wherever you are, it’s a good day.

Love,
Your “Pumpkin”