Yesterday morning, I wasn’t having the greatest day (and to be honest, it didn’t end all that well, either). As I looked to my left before turning onto the road that would take me to 28, I saw my Pappy Peterson. There he was, on a Conrail train. No, Pappy wasn’t Conrail, he was Union Railroad, but he was there on that train, telling me the day was going to be okay.
Just this afternoon, he reminded me that he is here, again. This time, in the form of bowling thunder over my office building as I was trying to finish the day up. The strikes just kept on coming, he was up there bowling hard. I’d put money that he and George found each other and were having some kind of competition, probably whomever won had to buy the buttermilk, for Pappy, or Diet Coke, for George.
The reminders may not always be cheerful like they were, but those we’ve loved and lost are always with us. Whether it’s coming up on 27 years or only days, they are always there to remind us of their love.
I was reminded of that on Saturday when Greg and I went to the Relay for Life. First, we celebrated Deb, Aaron, Tracy, and Dad (Pop-Pop). Then, as we rounded the track, I sobbed for Wendy, for Pappy McPherson. As many times as we’d hoped and prayed for a cure, they didn’t get one. But, they, are always with me.