My Favorite Man

Before I begin writing about myself, I want to discuss someone very important to me.

I know what you're thinking... "NOT ANOTHER POST ABOUT YOUR BOYFRIEND."

No, not yet. There will be one.

This one is about my actual best friend, my first best friend, and my favorite person besides maybe my mom.

This one is about my Papa.

He was with me from the very beginning. My buddy. 

It's hard to believe he's gone even though it's been a few years.

I still hope that he'll magically appear each time I go over to my Mimi's house.

I have their home phone number in my contacts as Mimi and Papa.

He was the greatest man I have ever had the joy of knowing. He taught me geometry when my teacher was failing to find a way to help me learn. He was the one who taught me that I have nothing to complain about and he is the one that I truly hope to be a better person for. 

When I do find myself complaining, I feel bad. All I can think is "what would Papa think if he saw you acting this way?"

He is the reason I try so hard to achieve all my goals in life.

He is still my best friend. I talk to him sometimes. Most of the time it ends in me crying. 

I'll listen to the songs that we played at his funeral and I smile and cry at the same time.

I mostly just sit and think about the memories that we could have had and the time I wasted being a teenager instead of trying to spend time with him

I also think about how he told me that I was his favorite.

I always knew it from the way he would let me have cookies when my mom tried to ground me or from how I was the only grandchild to actually have some kind of relationship with him.

I thought about him yesterday and cried in the bathroom to avoid having to tell my boyfriend what was wrong. It's not that I am ashamed to cry for Papa, it's that I am ashamed to cry in general.

I began to cry because I realize how much I miss him in waves.

I remember something from when I was eight and then realize that I won't be able to remember it with Papa.

I hear a song and think about how he used to listen to it during breakfast during the week.

I see a television show that I know he would be interested in and I want to call and tell him about it, but he isn't there to answer.

When he was in the hospital back when I was a wee lass, he was worried that I would be scared of all the tubes and catheters and wires that were monitoring his life. Yet, I wasn't. He wasn't the tubes, catheters, and wires. He was still the same Papa he was a few days before. 

I just realized that I really miss him. I know I will miss him until I see him again.