I remember when I would come home from work and his car would be parked in my yard and I'd say what Bubba doing here? He would be in my house cooking up all my sausages and eating up all the bread (LOL), washing his clothes, every light on in the house, and done smoked in there too. Knowing that I don't allow that. I wouldn't be too upset but upset enough. He all kicked up on the couch with them long legs and feet hanging over the side, sleep with his glasses on and his mouth wide open. I would just cover him up and take his glasses off so he wouldn't break'em. It was so insignficant then but now somedays I'd give anything to turn down Tumbleweed and see that ashy blue cadilliac parked in my yard. Some days when I turn on the lights in the den I still expect to see him laying there sleep. Some mornings at four, around the time he would be getting up for work, I still think I hear him doing that annoying thing he did to scratch his throat . I miss him and words can't begin to express the pain but I take comfort in the fact that God gave him to us this long. My brother, My beloved, My Bubba.