I should have said I love you more

It’s 3 AM and I can’t sleep. Again. My head is full of stuff, mostly him. My grandpa, I mean. He died last month, and I still can’t believe it. It feels like a bad dream I can’t wake up from. Everyone says it gets easier, but it hasn’t. It’s just… quieter. Emptier.

He was the best. Everyone says that about their grandpa, but he really was. He always had time for me. When I was a kid, he’d let me help him in his garden. I mostly just pulled up weeds and made a mess, but he never got mad. He’d just laugh and show me how to do it right. He taught me how to fish, how to ride a bike, how to whistle. All the important stuff.

As I got older, we’d just sit on his porch and talk. About school, about girls, about life. He always had good advice, even when I didn’t want to hear it. He never judged me, even when I messed up, which was a lot. He’d just listen, and then say something wise that made me think.

I took him for granted. I thought he’d always be there. I was so busy with my own life, with work and friends and stupid drama, that I didn’t see him as much as I should have. I’d promise to visit next week, and then next week would turn into next month. And then another month.

Now he’s gone, and I can’t get those visits back. All those missed phone calls, all those excuses. It’s eating me up inside.

The worst part is, I didn’t tell him I loved him enough. I said it sometimes, sure. On birthdays, on holidays. But it wasn’t enough. I should have said it every time I saw him. I should have hugged him tighter, stayed longer, listened more.

He knew, I think. He always knew how I felt. But I still needed to say it. He deserved to hear it. And I didn’t say it enough.

Now it’s too late. All I can do is sit here in the dark and wish I had one more chance. One more conversation, one more hug, one more "I love you."

I hope he knew how much he meant to me. I really, really do. I miss you, Grandpa. So damn much.