There’s something about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday that makes me acutely aware of his absence from my life—perhaps this year more than ever.

I remember his hug. Quiet, yet strong.

I remember his soft spoken voice that had a way of making everyone stop and listen, his words carefully chosen and never wasted.

I remember his Irish brogue and the cap he always wore.

I remember the slight stoop to his broad shoulders, a souvenir of a life that wasn’t always easy yet he embraced all the same.

I remember watching the St. Patty’s Day parade from the streets of New York City, waiting for that moment he marched by in his kilt, so proud of his heritage.

I remember the way he came in the front door with a bag of fresh bagels on those rare but wonderful mornings when I was lucky enough to wake up in their apartment on Academy Street.

I remember the way he told me—with a twinkle in his eye—how he’d painted the giant “C” on the rock across the river all by himself. “C” being for Casey, of course…

And I remember how I believed that story for more years than I should have.

I remember the way he’d pull a dollar bill from his pocket each time we left, shoving it into our hands no matter how much we tried to refuse.

I remember sitting on a park bench together and quietly watching the pigeons as they walked to and fro around our feet—the silence between us every bit as wonderful as anything words could ever accomplish.

I miss every single one of those things.

But, most of all, I miss him. Especially now.

I learned a lot from my Grandpa Casey. About hard work, kindness, love—you name it. Most of all, though, he taught me the meaning of strength.

Strength is not about the size of one’s muscles or the weight one can move. It’s what’s inside. And it’s having the ability to offer that to someone in quiet ways—like sitting side by side on a bench, gently squeezing a shoulder at just the right moment, knowing when to offer an anecdote, and when to simply listen.

I’d give just about anything to sit on a park bench beside him again…to feel his strength…to know I’m loved completely and unconditionally…to know that everything is going to be okay, one way or the other…

And to look out over that river and see his magnificent “C” just one more time.

Hugs,
~Laura