Remembering Papa.

His service is today. Now that he is gone the things that were so undeniably him stand out like fire on a cold night. His happy expression whenever he would see the boys. The way he would give them high fives instead of hugs because boys give high fives. His perfect popcorn. His perfect coffee. His perfect tea. His perfect prime rib. He perfected these things, enjoyed making them, and loved to share them. He could fix anything. In the summer he always had vegetables and flowers in his yard, cutting fresh bouquets for Grammie to have on her counter every other day or so.
The day he died his glasses were sitting on the table next to his chair in the living room. I sat in his chair biting my lip, looking at those lonely frames that I had never before seen anywhere but on his face.
It's strange to be in his house and not see him come walking down the hall, swinging his arms. Strange to eat dinner and him not be sitting at the head of the table. Grammie suddenly seems so solitary, almost lost.
It will be good to be with family today, remembering and saying goodbye to him. He was generous, gentle, and intuitive. He is missed.