Another poem about my grandson who died just after Thanksgiving in 2000. The last two lines say it all.

Sometimes your memory just comes to mind
and I wonder how you'd be
if you'd been given a chance to live
to be a man of twenty three.

Maybe you'd be married
have a son to call your own,
drive a truck, maybe fly a plane
and we'd chat on the phone.

And you'd tell me all your good times,
I'd commiserate with the bad,
give you a shoulder to lean on,
and listen when you felt sad.

But this is all wishful thinking
as I'll never again see you smile,
only in the pictures
I look at once in a while.

Three years ago you left us,
in fact it's almost four,
sometimes I really miss you
and others, I miss you more.