Sam died this morning.
I’m glad I took a picture of the roses he gave me.
Samuel Earl Evans.
I don’t even know how old you were, Sam. I don’t even know if you had any children. I only know you had the most contagious laugh and these giant, gnarled knuckles that always got in your way and sometimes you could be ornery as all get out but you still found a reason to laugh. I’ll miss opening your orange juice bottles for you and bringing you your plate while you sat at the bar because sometimes, not very often, that was as far as you could make it.
Mostly I’ll miss hearing you laugh, Sam. You have no idea how much I loved your laugh. I don’t think it’s ever possible for anyone to ever know how much we mean to them and maybe that’s the way it was with you. You have no idea how much you meant to me. You have no idea how much your mere presence gave me joy. I looked forward to the days you walked in the door. I’m going to miss you and it’s not because of anything you did or didn’t do.
It’s because you were you, Sam.