Only the Lonely

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Cut Off.”


papa and i

I wasn’t even a full-fledged teenager when my maternal grandfather passed away. For roughly nine years of my life, if I was not in school I spent every waking second with Papa (pronounced paw paw). He was the father figure I had wanted my mother’s ex husband to be and the parent I hope to be. He was caring but stern. Fun to be around but let you know when he was mad at you. He made kon’try living fun because we were always doing something. Whether it was bailing hay, driving the tractor to work in the field, planting in the garden, feeding the cows or riding around in his old truck, Papa and I were inseparable. Hell I even sat with him and the other Deacons at church on Sundays. I didn’t care. I was with my Papa and everyone would just have to be okay with it. He was my everything.

But when he passed away, nothing made sense anymore. I felt so lost and confused because I got accustomed to having him around. I remember the day he died so vividly. I remember my aunts meeting me outside when I got off the bus. I remember seeing my grandmother peek her head outside her front door. I remember running in the house looking for Papa and asking my aunts all kinds of questions. I remember that sinking gut wrenching feeling one gets when he or she knows something isn’t right about a situation. I felt angry and cheated out of a life that was supposed to be one of the best ever. He was going to walk me down the aisle. He was going to watch me graduate from high school and college. He was… He was more than my grandfather. More than a father figure. He made everything in my life simple. I never felt like I was a child of a divorced couple until he passed away. I never felt like my life was going to be as hard as it’s been because I just knew he would be there no matter what.

When he passed away, it was no longer LB and grasshopper against the world. It was just me. And I had to conquer the world on my own. No longer would I be able to make him a fresh cup of nasty ass Sanka coffee. No longer would we watch the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling and Bruce Lee movies on the old TV with the wooden encasing. Nor would we stop at the little gas station in town to get 25 cent coffee for him and candy for my friends and I. All those things ceased that windy somewhat chilly day in April 1991.

Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee

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Nerdtastic, Write?

I am an aspiring writer trying to find my place in the world. Writing makes me happy, save lives much like coffee, and keeps me grounded. To honestly know me is to understand my way of thinking, my quirky, sarcastic side comments, and left uppercut verbal jabs and side-eye death stares. I’m simplistic but can often be very complex in nature. I love life to the absolute fullest, but I am human; therefore, I have more than my fair share of ups and downs. I am a giant kid, so being goofy comes naturally to me. I secretly strive to be the next Ernest Hemingway, J.K. Rowling, Zora Neale Hurston, or Shonda Rhimes. I openly and stupidly wear every bit of my heart on my sleeve and refuse to apologize for or minimize my true, unedited feelings.

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