Day 11--A deceased person you wish you could talk to.

You died on my birthday when I was ten. Which I think is funny because this is the eleventh day and I was born on eleven/eleven. But that's beside the point. I remember very little about you. I remember visiting you and Poppo Harry in your old rickety house in Richwood. Those stairs were terrifying--I always thought I'd fall and break my neck. I would watch you walk around with your fly-swatter, swearing you'd get that darned fly. I don't think you ever did. And while you were chasing the fly, Poppo Harry was telling the story again about how he lost his pinky--his sister shoulda never been playing with that axe. We were all characters. We all had different stories in that house. Years later we drove by again and it made me so sad to see the house is condemned. I'm sure there would be plenty of flies for you to swat now.
We weren't sure what Harry would do without you. And while I still remember very little, I hated watching you rot in the hospital. The cancer ravaged you from head to toe and your strength was gone. You couldn't swing the fly-swatter no more. The last time I saw you, I sang for you. The sun'll come out tomorrow. Remember that? I hope it was good. I tried not to cry. I know my voice was shaking. But I'm scared you didn't even know who I was.
I didn't get to come to your funeral, so it never felt like you left. Maybe you just went on another vacation--you and Harry liked those. But I wish I could have talked to you so I remembered. I wish you could see me, tell me how grow'd up I am. I wish I could walk down those rickety stairs into a house that always seemed to have Cheerios. I miss you Granny Bess. I hope I'll see you again.