Missing My Papa (Two Years Later, It's Still So Hard...)

Dear Papa,

In 2010, while I was in a swirling magical world of playa dust at Burning Man, you passed away, holding the hand of your beloved wife. I was broken-hearted at your death – you were such a beautiful source of love and light in my life. Your stories of being in the British Navy – your tales of London in your youth – your journeys around the globe in your work for British Airways – you and I had a special bond of family but also the love of travel.

When I last saw you, I gave you homemade cookies and sat on your bed in the rehab center. I kissed you and begged you to eat. I asked the nurses for extra soup. You were in pain. I was selfish for not wanting to let you go, for wanting you to live, even though you were in pain, even though you claimed you had a long wonderful life and you didn’t need any more. But sometimes, love motivates you beyond reason.

Papa, upon my re-entry from Burning Man to the default world in 2010, nothing seemed important. I missed goodbye. I missed your funeral. I missed the stories. And I missed you.

I told my mother about how sad I was – “Mom, I was probably dancing when he died,” I cried to her, missing you so desperately. She responded, “He would be happy you were. He loved life so much and would have wanted you to be enjoying every moment.”

Two years later, I still miss you desperately. At the temple burn this year, I will think of you – I will miss you, but I am also glad you aren’t in pain.

I love you so much, Papa.

Love,

Your Granddaughter, Cheryl aka Cherie aka CherryBomb