Love no matter what

Readers,

Two years ago today I was at work and I got a call that I was expecting. But I did not answer it. The call was from my mom; the message was Poppa died. She called to tell me. I knew before I heard the message. I was at the hospital the day before; he was already gone. But her daughter, my mothers said that Poppa was proud of me; he loved me. But he wouldn't be around any longer. He was gone.

Sad? Sure, when I played the message durning my one-hour lunch break at Whole Foods. I finished the workday, though, at the place I started working when he was alive -- Borders --and the place he asked me 'Gonna keep this one for awhile?' after I was fired from the pervious job.

I use this computer to create scenes on the screen with these keys as an outlet, a way to communicate. If I write it, I think it. If I type it: it's told. It can be read.

Poppa doesn't read my blog. But I do think he is able to hear some of my thoughts. I can write: this was the day he died. I can think about him. Think: Grandma, who remains and wrote me today to tell me, 'I'll love you no matter what.' A common candle lighted.

And that's what I love: no matter what; no matter where; no matter matter.

So on this day -- I have to work at Borders tomorrow! -- his voice is quiet as it was. But his presence is felt. One hundred and one he'd be, and 102 soon. I'm a quarter of that I am. And trying to be half the man he is to me -- Love you no matter.

Your grandson