Grandpa, 

The last time I saw you, you were lying in that hospital bed, hopeless and weak. At seven, I had no idea what was going on. I thought the worst case scenario was that you had a headache. Something as deadly as stomach cancer didn’t cross my mind.

What I wish I could’ve put in your head before you past was that I appreciate everything you did for me. Like when I pointed at something at the store and said, “That’s really cool.” Then, next thing I know, I’m at home playing with it. Now all I want is for you to be here still.

To be honest, if someone really told me you were going to die, would it really be any different? I can’t imagine what I would say to you if I knew! People always say, “I never had a chance to say goodbye”–would saying those words really make a difference? Would it have kept you from dying? I doubt it. 

It was heartbreaking to see you in the hospital, skinnier than you were and without much hair. I wish I told you how much I love you, but it’s too late. When I think about you now, it’s like listening to the sea through a shell, faint and far away, but still there. 

~ABBY, age 12