I remember showing up at your door,
running in and jumping onto
your lap. The bag of bugle
chips not far from reach,
I'd stick them on your fingers
and instantly you had claws.

On holidays the door would
fly open, I knew you were here
by the smiles that immediately
appeared. Standing, arms
stretched wide, I’d run to you to
be by your side.

Last Christmas smiles
gone. The door stayed closed.
You didn’t show as if something
was wrong.

Tears falling
to my cheeks...cancer. It
always happens to the best.
Through all the treatments
and appointments I kept you
in my prayers.

Laying in a hospital bed
so weak and frail,
75 pounds gone.
It took me forever
to believe this was real.

You haven’t changed to me,
still stubborn as can be, arguing
with the nurses and refusing to
use your walker. Ever the jokester
especially with grandma. “Vern!”
She'd yell, but no acknowledgment
from you-even though you heard her
well. This is the grandpa I know not a
man stick with cancer.