Prior to 2009, I made a very important phone call on every October 10th of every year since I could talk.
I can't believe it's been three years since I called to wish my Pop a "Happy New Year" on his birthday. I've been anticipating writing this post for a couple weeks now, dreading the 10th of October knowing it would bring a flood of emotions and tears. Lately I'm reminded of him often: driving behind a small Nissan pick up truck wondering if someone's grandkids are hiding in the bed of that truck, laughing at every bump that sends them flying and silently hoping their mothers never find out they're not in a seat belt; when the Bears play MNF on 10/10/11, or hearing someone say they eat a "pickle a day," because at Pop's house, that's what kept the doctor away.
I miss my Pop more than words can describe, and I could go on and on about how I miss the text messages he learned to send but still always signed "Love, Pop." Or the way he called my name with more adoration than anyone I ever heard. Or the way he had a song to apply to any situation, not knowing if they were real or made up. Or the way every time he introduced me to someone he would squeeze my hand tight in sincere pride. But I would be selfish to take this time to focus on how the loss of my grandfather impacts my life. Even though..I miss him, really, really miss him. Instead, I want to celebrate and remember how my Pop knew how to live life to the fullest, dedicating himself to his grandchildren and to having fun.
Today would be Pop's birthday and I hope he's celebrating with a Michelob and a fat piece of cake up in heaven. And if there is Red Lobster up there, I'm sure he's already seated, but I seriously wish he'd choose something different.