Every so often the sun hits our front yard so perfectly it stops me dead in my tracks. It doesn't last long, but it lasts long enough to make me think of you on our long walks as the son rose over miles and miles of cornfield. I was so mad at you for dragging me out of bed, but so glad you did it.
The sun makes me think of you. The morning you died I shot out of bed at 6 am and the sun was blinding me through a window. We never kept those curtains open...never. That room was always cold in dark, but that morning you said goodbye. There isn't a doubt in my mind it was you descending.
When I'm gathered around the table with family after a blessing, I think of the way you would billow out
"Oh, the Lord's been good to me and so I thank the Lord for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed Oh the Lord's been good to me. Amen, Amen, Amen I say Amen."
People dropped their forks as your voice rumbled through the dining room. Gram would smile coyly as if it was the very first time you had done that. She loved the way you surprised her. You were always surprising her. Always. I joined you every time shouting at the top of my lungs. You smiled across the table at me like we were the only two people in the room. Just a Grandpa and his Granddaughter.
Sometimes I look at Jack and I wish he could meet you. I wish you could take long walks with him pointing out the beauty of the world, but that's not why I'm writing. Your wife...the one you adored...the one who made you light up. She needs you right now. She is doing fine in the physical sense, but she is hurting on the inside. So perhaps you could pay her a visit tomorrow as the sun rises?
Perhaps you could sing her your song:
"Oh, the Lord's been good to me and so I thank the Lord for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed Oh the Lord's been good to me. Amen, Amen, Amen I say Amen."
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