It's been eight years.

It's been eight, long years since I've seen my Papa's face, held his hand, heard his voice.

It's been eight years since he rounded up the grandkids at Hospice and told us goodbye. I remember he told us that life was like a beautiful song there were no lyrics for. He then told us that those lyrics were composed throughout one's life, and that we had a big impact on his lyrics. I felt so confused and lost, but I knew I had to tell him how much he meant to me, how much I loved him. All I could manage was, "Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me when I was sick and making me laugh." Papa said that would be added into his song.

It's been eight years, and I have so much more to say. I was only 11 when my Papa died, and I didn't get the chance to ever have an intelligent conversation with him, talk to him about my problems and fears, or let him see me perform or become a young woman.

It's been eight years, and here's what I have to say now:

"It's been eight years, and I still miss you more than words can express. I think about you every time I do something important, and always wish you were still here.

I was just a kid when you died, and you never got the chance to see me become someone, someone you would be proud to know. As I grew up, I always caught myself wondering whether or not you'd be proud of me. I'd really like to think you would be. I'm trying to make my own way in the world, and I'm doing all I can to make a change in it. Most of all, I'm trying to be as much as an influence on others as you were to me.

You really were, and still are, the best person I've ever met, and I say that without bias. I genuinely think you were a beautiful human being, and that everything you did made the world a better place. Everything you said to me always sounded so wise. I never got the chance to admire you as a person instead of just a grandparent.

I wish we could have a conversation, because I have so much I need to tell you, and much more I just want to talk about with you. I want to talk about my struggles with religion, politics, and the state of the world. There have been times when you were the only person I've wanted to talk to, and times when I've needed you. Whenever people ask, "if you could have dinner with any person, living or dead, who would it be," I always think of you first.

I would give anything for you to be here now, and for you to see the world. I miss you, and I love you. I carry you with me everyday, and I hope and pray that I can be half the person you were. And when I change the world, know that it was you who inspired me to do it."

It's been eight years, and my life's song hasn't been written yet. But I know that my Papa is the chorus. He is the reason I am who I am.