Safety net

I was talking to Kathy about how Pop Pop used to say Puma and how you guys went and got him new sneaks that one time. I feel like it was 3 pairs in a month. As I type this I’m listening to The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. It’s rainy here tonight. We talked about how you were so good with helping people with clothes you should’ve been a stylist. Then I was saying how you would take anything back. I remember you ate half a salad and the other half was bad and you told me you were gonna take it back....I even offered to give you the money for it and you were like no, screw that. I really don’t know why some days are harder than others. Even when it’s a good day. I don’t get how your time was up.....I don’t. We all miss you so much. I know you’re around us but that doesn’t make it much easier. I literally screamed up to the sky and asked “why?!” And then a big F U. I’m in a daily battle with the man upstairs. You had SO many hopes and dreams you were working towards. It’s hard to imagine leaving here cause you always liked it here and we had some good times on Main Street and driving around the city; standard tap. And I just think how many times you said, “for a thousand dollars I could have this place looking like the shit!” I told Kathy about the time you and Lisa were here last together and I got you all Stromboli’s. I think it was for my birthday in 2017...before the 40th at The Lantern. I want to just hold that moment. It was just a lot of fun. In a million years I couldn’t guess what would happen a year later. So you and Lisa are eating on my ottoman and you’re like “Bobby, you need a table for your guests....” and I was working and stressed and all over and I literally grabbed the box my surfboard came in and plopped it down on the ottoman and you were like, “Oh my God...” in that way that only you could say. Ah mom. I sure do miss you. I miss our little morning talks and all the private 
moments that no one saw. Like how you were always so scared because of my diabetes and how we cried together on my way home from Jeff with some bad news. How, as you were so selfless, you cried and told me you wish you could take it out of me. I will never forget that. I love you Mom. You truly are one of a kind that will never be matched. Love you. Bobby



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