My grandfather passed away when I was eight years old. I got to help carry his casket, which I’m sure I was of no help but I was there with him. It was a military funeral I remember being so sad and so proud at the same time. Hours before the funeral we visited his body at the funeral home as a family. When no one was looking I slipped my most prized possession in one of the pockets of his brown corduroy suite jacket. It was a small folding pocket knife with what looked like pearl handles on it. Someday I’m hoping to see him in the next life where he will hand me back that pocket knife. I miss you grandpa.