It's been almost a year now. We've taken it pretty well, but there are still some things I just can't take. I took the quilt that you and Grandma gave me off my bed, I don't wear your shirts to bed anymore. I can't smell old spice without crying. I miss you. Making your memorial video was the hardest things I've ever had to do. There is this old man I see driving a bronco every morning on my way to class and I swear, he looks just like you Papa. The first day I saw him, I had to pull over because I was crying so hard I couldn't see. I feel like you send me little reminders all the time to remind me that you're still here, like you told me you would be. Little reminders telling me you love me. Do you love me still? If there is a heaven, and if that's where you are, can you see who I am now? Can you see how different I am? Do you still love me despite the chocies I've made for my life? Can dead people still love? If you're up there, and you see me for who I really am, and not who my mom tells people I am, Do you accept me?
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