When I was younger, he was everything to me.
Old and wise, forever in my eyes
He was playful and serious, fun but not.
He was cheerful and grumpy,
Made me smile and cry.
And although we were family, we were best friends too.
Him high up there, talking about adventures from the past:
His huge houses back home, or how, with the president of Nigeria, he shook hands.
That trip to England, although he was not there,
His voice ringing in my ears, when we passed by the plaza or his house nearby.
Everyone who was someone knew him,
Everyone who was no one too,
But no one knew him like we.
His tall sturdy stature, his scruffy gray beard.
His big toothless smile, that made you smile back.
Eyes big and brown, inviting you in,
To sit down and talk,
About nothing at all
Now I look back and recall,
All those adventures he and I shared:
A trip to Niagara Falls or the candy shop down the street
His knowledge etched into me,
His passions now mine.
And now I think back and realize,
Maybe he didn't really die.