On my tenth birthday, you promised me you would be here for my 100th.
I wasn’t dumb.
I knew what death was,
but somehow I thought you were more powerful than it.
I remember waking up in cold sweats.
I had this recurring dream.
You died.
I was in this bed, in a room of some unknown house.
Mom was next to me, sobbing her eyes out.
Neither of us could move.
Nightmares don’t come true.
That’s what I told myself.
A few nights ago.
I woke up in a cold sweat.
I had a dream.
I watched you die.
When you took your last breath,
everyone fell to the ground.
No one could move.
When I googled a dream analysis,
of watching someone who already has been dead, die in a dream,
Google told me,
I was letting go of you.
Have I let go of you?
The truth is
Since that November day
in 2016,
Life has gone on.
Life has gone on.
Because I still think you’re here.
You promised me you would always be.
When I think of you,
when I picture you,
when I hear your voice in my head as if you were standing right here,
I think,
You’re just away,
on a vacation,
of some sort.
You are waking me up on a windy Thursday morning,
in Ocean City.
You are bribing me to get out of bed with a stale pop tart that you toasted.
We are going to the boardwalk later,
you are the only one that agreed to ride the upside down with me.
I cannot wait to beat you in Trivial Pursuit, later that night, even though I know
you’re letting me win.
I still think you’re here.
Even watching you die,
in a dream.
even seeing your casket,
and watching the soldiers fold the flag,
You’re still here.
You are not gone.
You can’t be gone.
I already reserved a seat for you at my 100th birthday party.
You promised you would be there.
Grandpa.
You promised.