When you were a very small boy and you wanted to touch something fragile, you used to ask very nicely, and then you would say, "I won't break it, I pomice". The first time you said it, I think you were about two, and your brothers and sister laughed, not at you, but with you. They too were enthralled with your use of language and even your missteps with it, which were often simply adorable. Of course, one correction was about all it took for you to promise in the future, but pomice entered the family lexicon of adorable malapropisms you used at least once. Somewhere I have a listing of all of them, and when I wrote the book about your life and times, I included a few of them interspersed with various chapters and events. You brought such joy to all of our lives, and in the remembrance of those times, you still do.
I have been remembering a lot of the things you said lately. Thank you for coming to our family. Thank you for your gentleness and kindness. Each time you promised not to drop the glass ball, not to crush the tiny kitten or frighten the tiny puppy, you kept your word.
Now it's my turn to promise you something. I promise that I will remember your legacy. I will remember as long as I live on the Earth, and likely beyond, my own days on Earth. I will also try my best to be there for your siblings whom I know miss you very much. Some of your dogs and your cat are still alive, and I continue to do my best to keep them healthy and happy, before those you love also move ahead to you. I will do my best to be the person you knew, only better. I pomice.