for what it's worth

I wrote my first report in 4th grade about my grandfather and I still have it.
I spent so much of the sunny weather of my childhood riding my bike to his and gram's, playing cards and working on his puzzles and talking to him about anything and everything that I was interested in. He was a teacher in the best sense. He knew something about everything, or at least I thought he did and he wanted to know what I found interesting and what I thought and who I was.

Pulmonary fibrosis was something that I never wanted to know everything about, neither was macular degeneration. It was amazing to watch someone in his 80s learn new technologies and adapt to his new limitations, but it was and still is heartbreaking to watch one of the best men you'll ever know get robbed of all he loved and then be robbed of him.

Truth is, every time I finish an article or find a new theory that may serve my framework for my proposal, I get just a little sad knowing that the person in my world who would've most eaten it up and wanted to talk to me about it for hours isn't here. Maybe "just a little sad" is a gross misrepresentation... I thought about quitting. I figured there was little point in pursuing something he was never going to see and something that no one else around me got just wasn't worth it. That's the problem with losing someone who made up the loudest and truest faction of your cheering section: you have to dig deep and figure out just what it's all worth on your own.

I remember when I got my hood for my M.S. He was too sick to come and he was the first person I wanted to show the hood to. He was so proud. He asked me a million questions on it and on what was coming next.

I spent so much of my first semester for this degree reading and working and trying to figure out what was going on and I constantly felt guilty at how little time I got to spend with him.

What do you do when the only person who never second guessed you is gone? How do you function when you miss someone all the time?

This week has been an eternity, waiting for grades to post, trying to play catch up at work and attempting to plan for the next bench mark... And in it all, I keep wondering what he would be saying right now. He wouldn't be worried about how I'd done. He would've had a beer with me somewhere. The natural atrophy of memory is both a blessing and a curse. His words have become wooden and misshapen, his gestures are my interpretation of them four years on and only the light in his eternally wonder filled eyes remains.

I think I look for some aspect of his eyes in every new face. The clear blue, nearing gray in some lights. The curiosity and wonder. The soft spot for his grandkids and the liquid laughter that radiated from them when he was happy. And I think I'm waiting for someone who is just as in love with knowing about all that the people he loves love.