Dear Pappy...

I'm a teacher now. I told my students about you today. I passed around this picture of that time you and Grandma came to visit for my high school graduation. They all said that you look like a very friendly man. I told them about your love of gardening, and that you were a coal miner. They really identified with that as many of their parents are coal miners too. I told them about the peppers in your garden and all the vegetables and how we would pick them and eat them. I told them about how you built the house that you spent so many years of life in; they couldn't believe it. I also told them about how you would always take us to McDonald's, and how we would always come home from your house with a Beanie Baby, even though they were the stupidest things ever. I think you would really like my students. I know that they would adore you. Sometimes I daydream about what it would be like if you walked through the door while I was teaching someday. You'd probably have your picture taken more than you could handle, but I'm sure you would distribute the greatest free hugs they would ever receive in their lifetime.

I remember how you fell in love with Messiah the first time you came out to visit me. You were super impressed with the brickwork along the walkway. You, of all people, would know how that's done. You were genuinely impressed with the place and genuinely happy for me and I knew then and there that I was going to be ok: it had Pappy-approval.

Sometimes, it makes me really sad to think that my whole experience with China happened after you left. I never got to run it by you {although now that I think about it, you probably would have killed me} or share with you how much China means to me. I'm a really different person than who you last remember me as. I recognize now that I had so much to learn from you. I kinda blew that opportunity, I guess. I always did enjoy talking to you, more so I enjoyed listening to you. You just knew everything. Those early mornings at the breakfast table I'd watch you get fired up about politics or the latest happenings in town, and I knew that people should never mess with you. You're tough, Pap. I know we'd be great friends.

You would never admit this, but you're a hero. In fact, if I told you that you were a hero you'd probably tell me to "keep my trap shut" and punch my arm in the kindest and most loving way possible.

I still think about the last conversation we ever had. Granted, you were in a hospital bed, and I was on the other side of the state curled up in a fluffy chair. I think about that conversation every now and then, and you'd probably roll your eyes at me from all the drama that's ensued from that. You were never really one for drama, quite the king of keeping things real; it's a gift that you had. I'm growing into that, too. Maybe it's a genetic that just needs time to reveal itself. I want you to know that I'll never forget the last words that you said to me, and if anyone tries to mess with your granddaughter I'm pretty sure you'll come haunt them from the grave. I wouldn't put it past you. And I would hope that that threat would scare the shit out of whoever they are, because they don't know who they're dealing with.

Every once and awhile I write you a letter, just to let you know what's happening in my life [as if you don't know]. I know you'll never get them, but it makes me feel less crazy than just talking to you.

Just so you know, Grandma is still madly and deeply in love with you. We're taking care of her as best we can, but you seem to be the only thing in this world that truly made her happy. I guess it goes to show what and awesome and respected man you were. You two lovebirds…

I just wanted to remind you that I love you and I always will. 
There will never be another man like you in my life.

Always,

your Kayla Marie