one last ride.

This must be a dream.

I am standing next to the huge rear wheel of your bucket-loader looking up at you behind the big wheel. With flawless precision, your hands manipulate it's many levers and shifters. As the bucket floats off of the ground, you look down at me:

"Hey bri-bri!"

You shut down the engine and motion for me to join you on atop the machine. I climb up and take my place on a small, greasy cushion that you've placed on the landing next to your driver's seat - a cushion placed for the sole purpose of having your grandchild as company. Although you're never lonely when you're up here, it's no question that you'd prefer to have company in the form of a five year old that is as entertained as you are at the thought of lifting up three thousand pound engines and moving them a distance of fifteen feet just for the sake of knowing that you could do it.

I don't remember ever being happier.

As you place the gigantic engine in it's new place amongst the other junk, you cut the engine, place your hand on my head and tell me:

"Best co-pilot in the junkyard!"

I smile, you wink, and I jump down off of the loader. As my feet hit the ground I turn and see your big smile. I smile, wave and run off to find trouble elsewhere.

I miss you more everyday, and everyday I'm reminded of the things you left behind... my sense of humor, my work ethic, my love of family and friends, and my big French nose.

I love you...and I'd give anything for one more ride on Gramp's loader.