It has been so long since I last saw you, heard you.

I feel guilty to admit that I can’t even remember your voice.

I was eight years old. Ten years ago you left this world.

That day in January you left tear soaked kitchen counters and a newfound emptiness in me.

I have never experienced death. Only in movies.

Movies.

That was our thing.

Movies.

You often spent your days alone in the hospital or your small room in your senior living complex,

so you found joy in your grandkids carefree giggles,

our eyes so wide, so bright, filled to the brim with innocence and curiosity.

You couldn’t do much with us that wouldn’t over exert your crumbling health,

But you could drive us to a theatre to sit and watch a movie with us.

I no longer experience that burst of excitement seeing the trailer to a brand new animated film

because I won’t be seeing it with you.

The reality I’ve come to experience is bitter and hard to digest,

like the Good ‘N Plenty I would pluck from your kitchen,

curious to see if maybe I would like it this time.

Times have been rough,

like the feeling of where your fingernails used to be on your shaky fingers,

missing from the steroids you had to take that ate away at them.

Things have changed since then.

Mason no longer plays football.

I know how much you loved watching him play.

Johnny Rockets no longer sells the PB&J I would always order

whenever we ate there before our movie started.

They tore down the movie theatre we always used to go to.

So many memories in a place that is now an empty husk

And things change all the time, I know,

but I know that what has already happened can’t change.

Nothing can change the richness of the syrup

that dripped down my pancakes at Blueberry Hill.

Nothing can change the sweetness of CowTails

that you always bought for us at the baseball field concession stands.

Nothing can change the softness of the fur

of the stuffed zebra I got from your hospital’s gift shop.

Nothing will ever compare to the bittersweet feeling

swelling around my heart every time I watch the last movie I watched with you.

Nothing will ever erase the impact you made on my life.

Even though I can’t remember your voice,

I will never forget all the memories you gave me within the eight years I had to spend with you.

I know you are still watching the movie of my life as I live it.

I can’t wait to ask you what your favorite part was like I did once before.