I miss him because I loved him so much. I miss him because
It’s winter now, and I hear almost nothing. The little I do hear
he was my hero. I miss him because there’s so much
is of such clarity that I feel aware of my surroundings for
I still want to say to him. I miss him because he never got to
miles. My mind floods with images of still serenity. Glistening,
see me graduate. Because I’ve never known anyone like him.
frosted marsh grass. The last standing corn fields of the
I miss him when I’m alone at Puckaway in winter.
season. A small, frozen stream as it enters a culvert and
I miss him because we never camped at Yellowstone. I miss
disappears from the moonlight. I see these things because I can
him because he’ll just be a candle at my wedding. I miss him
hear them. The grass whispers lightly, but constantly. It’s
because he never met Alyssa—and he would have loved her.
refusal to be covered by the fresh-fallen snow is accompanied by
Because my children will only know him through my stories.
an inability to remain silent. The stalks of corn stand straight
It hurts because I see so much of my grandpa in my mom,
and still, sentries guarding the fields by night, but their dry
and even in myself.
leaves rustle in even the slightest breeze, announcing their
I miss him on my birthday, at Christmas, late October when we
presence to all within earshot. And the wind howls softly as it
always went to Puckaway. I miss him constantly.
follows the flow of the stream into the culvert and disappears
I miss him most because he’s always here, just out of reach.
from the soft, blue tones of twilight.
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