Heaven Was Needing a Hero

10 years. 

10 years ago, I said one of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had to do. I said goodbye to you.

I remember that moment so clearly, so vividly, it feels just like yesterday. 7:00am, I was getting ready for work, and we got the call. It was like a sucker punch right to my heart. It was the first major loss for me, and it came as such a shock. You beat cancer. You were in remission. We were supposed to be celebrating. I couldn’t wait to go back up to see you, to talk to you, to tell you how proud I was of you for being such a fighter. But, God had other plans.

For some reason, it’s hitting me harder this year. Nothing’s changed, nothing is different, just time. More time has passed, and I think the further it gets, the more I wish to have you back. But, I know that’s impossible.

I miss going over to visit you on Sundays after Church. I miss giving you a hug and a kiss. I miss seeing you sit at the table telling me stories of dad, Aunt Gina, and their brothers. I miss you talking about politics, the Yankees, and Tiger Woods, which always made me laugh. I miss hearing about your journey as a Marine – and what life was like back then. You wore your title with confidence and pride. You were the definition of a true Marine, and you never stopped making us all proud.

My memories with you are many, but perhaps my very favorite ones are when you used to pick me up and drop me off at school. That’s when I always learned the most from you. We had so many wonderful and funny conversations on those far too short car rides.

I remember one day, riding in the car with you, you were telling me stories from your Marine days. You were encouraging me to drive, encouraging me to take my road test, and in doing so, you told me how you were allowed to drive a tank in the Marine Corps, but you failed your road test here because you turned the radio on.  The way you told that story cracked me up. And, wouldn’t you know it? All these years later and that’s the main story I remember.

Life’s funny that way, I guess. I remember my last conversation with you. You told me how much you loved me and how much God loved me too. I can still hear your strong, yet tear filled voice on replay.

I’m never going to “get over” losing you. I don’t think you ever really get over losing anyone. You’re such a part of who I am, and now, that part of me will always be void. No one will be able to fill it.

Yet, in the midst of the heartache, in the middle of the tears and sadness, there’s a comfort. There’s a hope. There’s a silent joy that knows that someday, I will see you again. That you’re watching over us and smiling. Though I can’t physically see you anymore, I know your spirit is still here. You’re the cardinal that flies over my yard every morning. You’re the sunshine shining down your warmth on me. You’re the gentle breeze that seems to hug me when I need it the most. And, you’re the raindrop that kisses my cheek.

I still don’t understand why you were taken from us on that day, when you still had so much life left in you. But, you know, I was always told that you won’t be called Home until it’s your time. So, I now take comfort in that fact that Heaven must have needed a hero on May 26, 2013, and that hero was you.

“Your memory is my keepsake, in which we’ll never part. God has you in his keeping, I have you in my heart.”

I love you Papa Frank, and I’m blessed to call you my grandfather.

Love always,

Your granddaughter