Seven years

This morning I woke up knowing it would be a difficult day. Seven years ago Papa passed away. I knew this day was coming and I made sure to keep my work day super busy. I tried to keep my mind off of thinking about Papa and the events of this day seven years ago, but it was way too hard. I remember the night I got the phone call that he had passed. I remember exactly where I was. I remember who I was on the phone with. I remember the gut wrenching feeling I got when I saw my mom calling the house. 

Brain tumors suck. They took the life of a loved one. And it sucks.  

Today at lunch I stayed in my classroom and sat in silence. I thought back to all the memories I had with Papa. I thought about when he came to see me at senior night in high school. I wanted him to make it to my graduation and see me walk across the stage so bad, but having him see me walk across the field at senior night with my mom and dad was just as good. I know he sat at the top in his wheel chair smiling and I know he was proud of me. 

I thought about all the beach trips our family took every summer. One memory I distinctly remember is when him and Nana were dancing to Copacabana in the living room of the beach house. He was dancing around the room with nana. I saw the love he had for her as he swung her around and they sang along with Barry Manilow.

I remember the day when I introduced him to Polynesian sauce at Chickfila. We sat in his truck at the Chickfila on Hwy 78.  He liked the sauce so much he used a straw to drink what was leftover.

Or when he came over to the house for Halloween and sat behind the door and every time someone knocked he would scream really loud or make scary noises. 

Or whenever nana would cook and he liked the meal he would get up and say "Enjoyed the suppa".

I remember the day a friend came over to the house and I didn't introduce him to her and he sat me on top of the ottoman and taught me how to properly introduce people. He even made me practice a couple of times. 

I remember how he taught me that you can tell a lot about a person by their handshake. 

Or the time when he "taught" me how to change the color of the text in an email. His favorite was green. 

These are all memories. Every time my family gets together we share more and more. New stories that I haven't heard before. 

Papa, you told me to never give up on my dreams. I hope I'm making you proud.