Every year,
on my birthday,
I would get a silver dollar,
old pennies,
and,
two dollar bills,
from my grandpa.
This probably happened every year for 17 years.
I always loved it,
and it seemed,
like he loved to give them to me.
He’d sit me down
and explain to me
how old they were
How rare they were
How he collected them
How long he had them for
He was ALWAYS a kind and gentle man to me.
We would swim in his pool in the summer
Play football in his driveway after Thanksgiving dinner
We’d always watch the Star Wars movies with him
His wife (my grandmother)
would cut mine and my brothers hair
every time we would see them.
(always a bowl cut)
He adopted my dad at the age of 16,
after my father got emancipated
from his biological family.
A new family lovenly welcomed him into their house.
My aunts and uncles
were a blend
of his own kids
and the kids he had fostered
and adopted.
I went through most of my childhood without knowing this.
I thought they were all my biological relatives.
They never treated me or my family any different.
He was full of love
and
kindness.
He was a peaceful man,
never upset or angry.
He was exactly what you’d want in a Grandpa.
Well he passed last night
and I am here,
wishing that I would’ve been
a better grandson to him.
He deserved it,
but no,
I’ve ignored most of my family as an adult.
Why?
Well I am not entirely sure…
He deserved to have a relationship with me
He had earned it
but I was nowhere to be found.
They told me he was sick six months ago
They told me I should reach out to him
They told me he would love to hear from me
I remained
silent.
I remained
distant.
Too caught up in my own world for anyone else.
What a shitty grandson I was to him.
I never got to tell him
How much
Receiving a silver dollar from him
On my birthday
Meant to me as a child.
What a shitty human I am.
Why is it that we only appreciate people when they’re gone?
Why is it that we only understand how much we care,
when we can no longer express it to them?
Why can’t I express my love for the people in my life while they’re living?
Am I the problem?
Am I broken?
I know it’s meaningless now
I know he can’t hear it
I know this poem will not reach heaven..
but I have to say it,
I am sorry Grandpa Newville.
I love you.
Rest in peace.
-C.H.
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