While

For my creative writing class, we had to write a letter poem. I wrote mine to my adopted grandpa last Tuesday. If you've been keeping up with my blog (and you've known me for the past year or so), you'll know that he's been really sick for a while.

He passed away this morning.

So, Mr. Everett: this one's for you.

After While, Crocodile

Hey old man.

Been a while.

Five months?

Something like that.

It's my fault, I know - 

I promised I'd come back, never did.

I should have.

I'm sorry.

I don't know why I didn't -

You said I could come over whenever.

Maybe it's the thought of seeing you,

Sitting in that chair by the sliding door,

Your feeble frame under all those tubes - 

A shade of a hero,

The skeleton with the shaking hands

Who clasped me to him

While I worried that he would break.

It hurts, you know?

To see you that way, I mean.

You didn't used to be that way.

I heard you're in the hospital,

But that's about it - 

Nothing more than that,

No other details.

You could be dead.

Is that morbid?

I don't think so -

It's a logical possibility:

An eighty-seven-year-old man with breathing issues and heart issues and stress issues and a nagging wife and grief and war and experience and battle and fear and scars and baggage that I cannot begin to imagine would certainly start to shut down eventually.

I don't know how I can find out though.

I'm scared to go to the 911 house and find it empty

With no trace of you left in it.

Where are you, my friend?

How are you, my grandpa?

When will we get to share a Reese cup again

Or sit by your table with apples and Coke

And talk about us and God and change and secrets and gossip and health and fear and death and life?

When will I get to hug your frail body one more time,

Kiss that thin cheek that holds ragged breaths

And say, "Thank you for your service,

Thank you for your love,

Thank you for your time"?

Will I ever?

If not, that's OK.

You're my brother, remember?

We'll hang out again sometime.

Until then, though:

See you later, alligator.