I wish my Bop was still alive, so I could ask him how he did it; and by it, I mean everything.
I would ask him if he really was truly happy, because it seems that no one ever is.
I would ask him if he was ever scared, because I am.
I would ask him what his first thoughts were when he woke up every day and when he got into bed at night.
I would ask him how he managed to love a woman unconditionally for 61 years, and how she managed to love him back. I would ask him what they fought about, and who won.
I would ask him how he raised three children, and coped with losing one.
I would ask him how he remained friends with his brother as they grew up and started their own lives.
I would ask him how he kept his faith in God and our country when he was away at war.
I would ask him if he had any regrets… things he wishes he would’ve done, or things he wishes he hadn’t.
I would ask him about his favorite family memories, his favorite color, his favorite baseball player, his favorite food (which probably wasn’t something my grandmother made) because for some reason, as time goes by, I’m forgetting things.
But most of all, I would ask him to help me. He did such a good job living life, and I know that I’m really not.