Frankie....

Another holiday, and your presence is missed more and more with each passing year. I still can't believe you are gone. I talk with you, I do my art in your room, and I tell Jackie all about you. He is young, and I know he will be asking all kinds of questions when he gets a little older. I absolutely HATE that he has to be "told about"...you. I want to scream at the absurdity of it all. It should be you, holding his hand, taking him to see all the things in this world for the first time. And, to be there when he cries, and laughs and wins or loses. I know there is no changing that, but GOD FUCKING DAMMMMMMIT! I HATE THIS UNIVERSE for all it has taken from you, him, and us....I hate  I hate I hate.. I am angry, and I want to lash out at the world for having what I have lost. You were a wonderful child, friend, and father to your son. It makes no sense to me. I am constantlt asking WHY WHY WHY WHY? Really, FUCKING WHY??????????? The only thing I can look forward to is the day I can die and see you again. But, I cant...yet...your son needs to know you through me. Besides, if I go now...Pops will be left here, alone. The three musketeers. God, words cannot express how much we miss you. Or how much we love you. Or, the profound, painful sorrow that sits with us every second of everyday...My son. My son....