the last thing I remember was you driving up the driveway and stopping to give treats to the dogs like you always did. You were the strongest person I knew, a giant of life, of love, of what's right. Your silver hair circled around the top of your hair like a shore inching towards invading the water. I never remember you being the least bit sick, sad, unhappy. You were the rock of our family.

That day was my birthday. you never missed a birthday or holiday or just a chance to get to tell us how much you love us even more. The day everything changed was my sisters birthday. We knew things weren't right when you hadn't texted her happy birthday, you were always the first one. I knew you were getting older, but this was just something you could get checked out and you'd be home that night. I kept telling myself it was gonna be okay, you were stronger than any worldly thing I knew.

The doctors said the swelling on your brain was going to be too much, and you'd never be that same giant of life I knew before. I still had the hope in my heart that you'd wake up and call me shelbs and hug me in the arms that I latched on to ever since I came into your life. That you'd get up and you'd be feeding the turkeys and deer the next morning. That you'd be there at Christmas and thanksgiving and my graduation and my wedding. The hardest thing I ever had to do was tell you it was okay to move on, that your job was done here on this earth, and I needed you to take care of me from above.

I write this after looking through the things you left behind. I put on the shirts that still smell like you. I slip my arms through the tunnels of the the sleeves and I remember your arms and how they wrapped all the way around me when you held me. My favorite item of them all- a series of post it notes full of your wit and thoughts. The one I love the most-

God has you in His arms, I have you in my heart.