June 26, 2011 7:58AM-

While I pack my camp gear

I try hard to imagine what you would say

I was missing, something I wouldn't

Even know I forgot until I needed it.

You would probably like my tent,

I think, as Ann and I practice

Putting it up and taking it down

At least once or twice, to prepare.

Here in the front yard, it seems

Like a futile excersise, but I know

You would agree with the theory.

I sometimes still think as I push open

The garage door, I will see your hand

Outstretched, palm out.

I wait to hear you call my name,

To greet me with that excitement in your voice.

And maybe a tiny bit of resentment

That it had been two or three days since the last visit.

You would probably ask for a can of gasoline.

I never did, but now, I would probably ask you

To share your can of Skoal. I wish

We would have done that, when we still could.

I wish we would have gone camping.

I know you were tired, and ready to go-- to be honest.

I know I would have selfishly pushed you through it,

But on the other end, we would have both been better,

And I'd have had a few more memories to hold onto.

I wish you would have met my wife. She only knows

The picture of you at Jason's wedding

That I haven't decided where to hang quite yet.

I know it's never long enough,

But in your case, it really wasn't.

All these people that have come along

Like your great-gandson, who shares your name--

I wonder if he would call you Pappaw--

Or later on if he would spell it like

I do, or with an L, or like mom does--

All these people now in our lives,

And those not yet arrived,

Would not hope to be here, were it not for you.

We would not be who we are without your love.

And they owe your thier happiness, as we do

Though they have never met you.