A letter to my angel

PA,

I often come across the topic of “who is your hero”, and for twenty years I have always had the same answer. It’s simple, it’s you. There will come a time where my days without you will outweigh my days with you, but the answer will still stay the same. It will always be you.

I could rewrite all the amazing stories that I grew up listening to but you already know them all. Instead, I’m going to say that having someone like you was the biggest blessing in my life. I’m sure everyone has a person they have known that they label as their hero, but this is not that. I was just lucky enough to be born your granddaughter. If I could write a movie about your life, you would be a hero to the world too. I think of you everyday and I dream of you most nights. It used to break my heart to wake up and remember that you were no longer here, but now I count the moments in my dreams, as if I can not be with you while I am awake, at least I am with you while I am asleep.

When I think of you, it is not the grand moments of heroism that you were admired by many for, it is far more simple and more mundane than that. I am sitting across from you, we are sitting at your dining table. It is stained a light brown colour, and the ripples of the old oak tree is still visible. It is rectangular, the two end chairs are always reserved for Nan and Becky, but the two in between are ours. In my vision you are talking but it is faded out by my concentration of everything that is you. It has been eight years, but I can still picture every wrinkle, every facial expression, every smile. Your hair is light, and gray, your bald head shines at the top where the light reflects off it. Your eyes are big and brown, with your pupils fading in tone. They glow with scenes of your life, as you tell your story with so much detail that the dining room turns into the site of your memories. Your hands are wrinkled and rough from years of manual labour, every scar with a different tale. I picture them with every detail, still able to feel the warmth as you held your hand in mine. You’d play with the place mat, the same one you have had for years. It's green and gold. You’re running your fingers along the edges, folding it perfectly down section by section. Unravelling, and refolding, the whole time you spoke. This is the memory I hold on to. The memory of your voice, your laugh, your smile echoes through my mind. The small moments where I would catch you being you. I guess the reason you are my hero is because despite the struggles you faced, you would sit across from me and seem like the most content person in the world. You were happy. Your life was simple, it was enough, it was yours. You are the reason I want to be contagiously happy. You never saved the world, but you still save me everyday. What would Pa say?

“Somewhere in my heart, a little bird sang and somehow it seemed to say, everything will be okay tomorrow, if you laugh at your troubles today”.

Love your little lion-heart