The smell of mom’s homemade vegetable soup wafts through our house on a cool September evening. It was a Monday night, I sat at our brown kitchen table completing my homework from the day. The phone rang. Nothing out of the ordinary just the casual call from grandpa to chat with mom. She was instructed to meet him at his house. So, obediently, I drug along in the back seat of our red Tahoe. As we drove I began to notice the leaves on the ground, the end of one season and the beginning of another. How everything seemed ever so perfect. We pulled up and saw grandpa’s shiny truck in the leaf covered drive way. Almost as if by instinct, I went in and started to play with Mama cat, their ancient orange cat as the adults began what I thought, was going to be another boring conversation. Then I heard it, a sentence came out of grandpa’s mouth that rings in my ear to this very day, “He’s gone.”

It sits on my bed. Brown and white fur, soft to the touch, shiny, black eyes, a tiny, rough leather bommers jacket, goggles around its head and a scarf that says “Sedona Arizona”. It’s all I have left. My teddy bear named Tango, given to me by you. Most people acquire this special child’s item at a young age but I didn’t find mine till I was 7 and now I’ll never let it go.

I remember it as if it were yesterday, you had decided to move, with your best friend Eric, to the dry state of Arizona. You were in town for a short time and stopped by my elementary school that day. My perfect blonde curled pig tails bounced with every step I took towards the office, my feet frozen in fear that I was in trouble. I walked in only to see you waiting for me, standing tall, in your salmon colored shirt. I immediately wrapped my arms around you as tight as I could as you scooped me up in your arms. Time seemed to freeze in perfect stillness and I enjoyed our conversation that now, will never seem long enough.

A picture of the Grand Canyon sits on my picture board, the immensity of the brown and tan jagged rocks fill the postcard with the ever so subtle pinks, reds, and purples mixing together in the sky. Mom told me that was your view everyday going to work. Among that post card are 4 others with equally as pretty views. I had received a post card every month since the move and each one was as special as the last. The time and thought you had put into each one, the plans you had for me to come out and visit, even down to the special Mickey Mouse stamps you had bought just for me. Not a day goes by that I don’t stare at those post cards, feel a pang in my small heart while I wonder, “What if?”

There I stood in the freshly cut summer healthy grass, bugs buzzing in the warm, muggy air, sky painted with clouds. A perfect afternoon in Grandma’s back yard, you pulled your new army green Jeep into the grass and parked it. You were elated and couldn’t wait to snap a picture of your new car. I ran over in my pink and white outfit to sit on the coal black running boards. Again, time was still, you captured the perfect moment in a single picture.

A picture of you sits in our living room, one in mom’s bedroom and I can find several throughout photo albums. One thing that remains in all of them is your breathtaking smile. The one filled with so much life and so much happiness you can’t help but smile along with it. I remember your goofy laugh that could fill a room. I remember your energy you always had and the mornings I would visit and you would be playing and singing along to “Rich Girl” and “Hollerback Girl”. I remember your kindness and all the goofy silly things you would do to make me laugh. Funny the things kids even so young can remember. Stories are told about you at every holiday and family gathering as we all join around the table that you used to join us at. I wish you could have watched me grow up and see the person I’ve become. But, even though you aren’t physically here anymore, and I’ll never hear your warm laugh or feel the embrace of your kind hugs, I carry the memories of you, and your love and kindness with me every day of my life, as does the rest of the family. Oh how one phone call, that at the time I did not even quite understand, can change your life forever.