My father passed when I was four years old, and he was quite young himself (34). I had five sisters and my mom couldn't raise us at the time so my father's parents took us in and raised all six of girls. My grandfather was very close to me. I felt as if he were my father for I was so young when my father passed, I don't remember much of him. He had a nickname for me and he was the only one allowed to call me by that name. I followed papaw around like a little puppy and when he passed, I was so lost. I believe I was about twelve years old when he passed.
The bed that me and my sister slept in was in the same room that my grandparent's bed was in. We lived in a old farm house and with having six girls in the house, every space was used. The night he passed, he rose up off the bed and stated he was going to get a breath of fresh air. He stepped out onto the porch and my grandmother ask him if he had taken his medicine and he said "yeah" and then we hear a thud. He had passed and fallen off of the porch. Everyone in the house ran outside except me and I pulled the blankets over my head and pretended that nothing happened. My papaw wasn't dead. It was just a bad dream.
I believe it was two weeks after the funeral and I had just begun to realize that my papaw wasn't coming back and I woke up one night and I saw him sitting on the edge of my mamaw's bed rubbing her feet like he did every night when he was alive. I called out his name and he smiled and slowly faded away. It was then that I realized he would never leave me.