I looked at my mother and she attempted to smile. Grabbing my hand and squeezing it, she whispered to me:
“You were his little girl. His first job was your happiness. He may have been wonderful father, but he was a fantastic grandfather.”
“No,” I stated. Mom looked at me startled, “He was the perfect grandpa.” I sniffled. Unable to maintain composure, I ran out of the room. I didn’t want her to see me cry again.
I closed my door, fell on my bed, and sobbed for several minutes.
A while later, I heard my door open. Jumping up, I wiped my face and looked towards the door.
“Poohbear,” my mom said, “can I come in?” Of course, she didn’t wait for a reply and walked in. She went over to my dresser, took my old Lisa doll that Grandpa gave me off the shelf and handed it to me, “You still have him with you. He will never leave you. As long as you have this doll, those pictures, he’s here. As long as you have your memories, you have him.” A tear fell down her cheek and she brushed it off, “I still have him.”