For my part, I decided to write about my grandfather. He's been gone for about seventeen years now, and on this holiday, my thoughts always turn to him.
Here's my part in the anthology...
The
Promise
My grandfather lived on ten acres, and for a time, I was
lucky enough to live on the property with him.
He was the kind of man who didn’t shy away from a good deal. He frequented the local auctions, and
sometimes even brought me back some unique finds. Once he gave me an entire box of purple eye
shadow, which was cool, except for the fact it was one hundred containers of
the same color. Another time he returned
home with a box of Rubik Cube key chains.
I was very popular in school the next day.
In junior high and high school, I was in choir and my sister
was in dance. My grandfather always
attended our concerts even though some of them were about as interesting as a
documentary on sliced bread. It didn’t
matter. He still came.
My grandfather had a voice like Louis Armstrong and sang
songs about three little fishes while beating me at a game of Crazy
Eights. There was something about him
that was special. Maybe it was the fact
he could skate backward at the roller skating rink when the other grandpa’s
couldn’t even move forward without falling down and breaking something. Or maybe it was that he believed I could do
anything, be anything. Whatever it was,
I was in total awe of him.
When I had my daughter, I called my grandfather to share the
news and he made a plan to come see his first great-granddaughter. But one night I arrived home to find my
father sitting in my living room. I
looked into his eyes and knew something wasn’t right. My grandfather had died.
My entire family made plans to travel to the funeral, but
then something strange happened: my grandmother had him cremated, almost
immediately. There would be no funeral,
no chance for closure, no time to say goodbye. In a moment he was whisked away forever.
Not long after his death, my sister had a dance
concert. I remember sitting in a metal
chair in a school auditorium waiting for the program to begin. As I looked down at the baby girl I held
in my arms, I realized my grandfather would never attend another dance concert
or ever hear me sing again. And he'd never meet my daughter.
At that moment a cool breeze brushed across my face like I
was outside and a gust of wind had just kicked up, only we were inside and the
room was still. No doors had been
opened, and the air conditioner hadn’t kicked on. And then I felt it again—this time more
powerful, like someone had reached out and touched me, but no one was
there. Were they?
Some time later I was alone in my car listening to
Tracy Chapman’s The Promise. As soon as the song began, a cool wind
drifted by my face. I’d never really
taken the time to learn the lyrics of the song, so I played it back and
listened and then I did it again, and again.
For me the song was about a person making a promise; if they waited, the
other person would come for them and they would be together again.
On Father’s Day I not only think of my own father, I think
of my grandfather, too. Days like this
remind me that just because we can’t see our loved ones after they’ve passed
on, doesn’t mean they aren’t around in one way or another, waiting, watching
and cheering us on.
Hi.
ReplyDeleteThis article really resonated with me. My grandads are both dead now & I really miss them. But like you say in some ways they're still here. I have my memories of them that I'll have forever and for me as a Christian I believe that death is not the end. I'm glad that you can sense your grandfather with you. It means in a sense he's still with you.
Thanks so much, Elaine for your comments. I believe he is with me in some ways, and that means everything to me.
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