Description: This piece is dedicated to my late grandfather, who passed away in 2018. He played a significant role in shaping my love for reading and writing, and many of my fondest memories are tied to the stories we shared. Through this work, I hope to honor his memory and the ways he continues to live on in those who loved him. Knowing that his story and my words may reach others, I can already picture the proud grin he would have worn. Thank you for the opportunity to share this piece.
I find you in familiar places.
When I see an L300 van on the road, I catch a glimpse of you behind the wheel, wearing that yellow shirt with blue stripes on the shoulders. It comes without warning, and for a second, you’re here again.
I find you in grocery aisles.
In the things you always chose:
70% ethyl alcohol.
Toothpaste in bundles.
Dinner rolls.
Packs of instant coffee.
The little markers of your presence.
Years later, those things still feel like you.
I find you when my thoughts wander.
I used to cry myself to sleep, terrified of futures without you and Mama. Long before loss arrived, I was already grieving it, even while you were only a wall away, sleeping peacefully in the next room.
I find you when I’m not being productive.
You were always awake before dawn, already starting your day with your routine. You hated wasted time. If I slept in or spent the day doing nothing, you would let me hear about it. You taught me to stretch each hour, to hold time carefully, to make it count.
I find you when I write.
You loved my words. You kept every poem, every essay, every little piece I handed you. You tucked them into your old black journal beside your Bible, among the things you considered worth keeping.
I find you when I linger in regret.
In the moments I replay too often.
I should have kept your Bible.
Your journals.
Your favorite shirt.
Before they were engulfed by fire and reduced to ashes.
Things you once touched.
Things that proved you were here.
But grief has a way of teaching you that people leave traces of themselves everywhere.
I envision you in the crowd, standing somewhere near the back, grinning wildly and beaming with pride.
I see you in Mama.
Most of all, I see your love in her.
In the way she cares for us.
In the way her smile still carries pieces of you.
I hope you know that we still say your name out loud in conversations. As if that’s enough to hold you close.
And somehow, it is.
Because you never really left.
You live in our stories.
In our habits.
In our laughter.
In the people we became.
You live in all of us.
This was written by our contributing writer, Marga Cortez.
Both photos published with Marga’s poem are of her and her beloved grandfather. She has given us permission to use them.
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