I don't have to imagine....I know in my heart what he would say.

Well, last weeks Mama Kat's workshop went HORRIBLY awry, but this week, when I saw her first prompt, I knew I had to participate. For those of us who love to write, and love to be challenged, and like to find new things to write about, Mama Kat's workshops are perfect. Head over to participate this week, or next if you feel you need some more time.

I chose prompt 1.
Write a letter to yourself from someone who has passed on. (ie: parent, grandparent, famous person, friend, pet, etc)

Dear Vicki,
  Though I wish I could say this to you in person, I know that you can feel me in your heart. I know that when you come to see me, you can feel my hugs in the gentle breeze, hear my advice in the song of the birds, and see the beauty that I see in the flowers, trees, and love that surrounds me. I know that you feel me holding your hand during the holiday gatherings. I know you feel me join the family as I sit next to Grandma at the head of the table.
   There are so many things that I didn't get to tell you before I died. So many things that I tried to say but the Alzheimer's would make me quickly forget. So much advice I wanted to share, but always thought there would be more time.
   But I knew you were there. I knew I was saying my last words to you when I said "love you, too babe". I knew, as you walked out with your belly swollen from 9 months of pregnancy that I would meet your son before you did. I knew I would pass my wisdom, my crooked smile, and my intelligence to him. I knew I would comfort him as he wondered what was about to happen.
   And after I passed, when you ended in the hospital with high blood pressure, when I heard you cry that this was not how it was supposed to happen, I knew so as well. I knew that it would be a few more days until I would whisper words that no one else could hear, but that you could feel. That it would be okay to miss my funeral. That we would find our day to say goodbye. That the c-section had to happen. That this moment was important. And then I held your hand as they cut into your belly, and I knew I would kiss my great-grandson goodbye, tell him I would meet him again one day far in the future, and tell him to be good and take care of his mommy for me.
   And I watched. I watched you hold that baby, I watched you raise him. I watched you become the mother I knew you could be, that I wanted you to be. I watched as you received your First Communion and Confirmation, with a pride you couldn't imagine. And then, when your little miracle baby girl came along, I knew as well, and I knew what COULD have been. I was the one that sent the sense of emergency down your spine, convincing you not to wait the 8 hours until your scheduled c-section. I was the one that urged the Dr. to come in earlier than she normally would have. I was the one that calmed you in the surgery suite when you went into a panic and suddenly felt calm. And I was the one that watched that cord and refused to let it pull tight. And I was in the room and smiled. I smiled when the Dr. told you that your daughter was a miracle baby, that she had a true knot in her cord, and that it was amazing there was absolutely NO side effects. I smiled because I heard you whisper "Thank you Grandpa".
   And I am still here, now, babe. I am still here with that twinkle of pride in my eye because I see you love your children. I see you enjoy your writing, I see you having a solid life. I miss you as much as you miss me, and I love when you come to visit. And don't ever doubt. Remember me when you see that crooked smile on Little Man. Remember me when you see the red in baby girl's hair. And when Little Man recognizes me in a photograph, or knows which pictures I have painted, you are right not to doubt why. He does know me. I protected and guided both your children just as I protected and guided you. Just as I always have, and just as I always will.

Love Always and Forever,
Grandpa